■'i^. 


ti\%'-  /or 


\c 


i-  f^ 


l0^ 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 
Gift  of 

Mr.  &  Mrs.  Robert  S.  Johnson 


-\ 


/  ^ 


r 


THE 

NEW-YORK  READER, 

•JVo.  3: 

BEING, 

SELECTIONS   IN  PROSE   AND  POETRY, 

FROM 

THE  BEST  WRITERS: 

DESICNKD 

FOR   THE   USE    OF   SCHOOLS, 

CALCULATED  TO  ASSIST  THE   SCHOLAR  IN  ACQUIRING 
THE  ART  OF  READING, 

AVD  AT  THft  SAXB  TIME,  TO  FIX  HO  PHUCIPLIS,  AND  IK8PIBE  HUl 

WITH  A  LOVE  OF  VIRTUE. 


J^ETVYORK: 
PUBLISHED  BY  SAMUEL  WOOD  fe  SOM3. 

NO.  261  PEARL-STREET. 


::^ 


R.  .J-  G.  S.  JVood  Printers. 


Southern  District  of  JSTew-Vork,  $t. 

BE  IT  REMEMBERED,  That  on  fne  seventeenth  day  of  December,  A.  D. 
1828,  in  the  fifty-third  year  ofthe  Independence  of  the  United  States  of  America, 
Samuel  Wood  and  Sons,  of  the  said  District,  have  deposited  in  this  ofiice,  the 
title  of  a  book,  the  right  whereof  they  claim  as  proprietors  in  the  words  fol- 
lowing to  wit : 

"  The  New- York  Reader,  No.  3 :  being,  selectioas  in  prose  and  poetry,  from 
the  best  writers ;  designed  for  the  use  of  Schools,  and  calculated  to  assist 
the  Scholar  in  acquiring  the  art  of  Reading  ;  and  at  the  same  time,  to  i\x 
his  principles  and  inspire  him  with  a  love  of  Virtue. 

In  conformity  to  the  Act  of  Congress  of  the  United  States,  entitled,  "  An 
Act  for  the  encouragement  of  Learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of  Maps,  Charts, 
and  Books,  to  the  Authors  and  Proprietors  of  such  copies,  during  the  time 
tlierein  mentioned."  And  also  to  an  Act,  entitled,  "  An  Act,  supplementary 
to  an  Act,  enticed  an  Act  for  the  encouragement  of  Learning,' by  securing  the 
copies  of  Maps,  Charts,  and  Books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  such 
copiesjduriug  the  trnie  therein  mentioned,  and  extending  the  benefits  tliereof  to 
the  arts  of  designing,  engraving,  and  etching  historical  and  other  prints." 

FRED.  G.  BETTS. 
Ck)Aat  the  Southern  District  of  New- York. 


In  presenting  Reader  No.  3  to  the  public,  the  com- 
piler thinks  it  unnecessary  to  say  much  by  way  of 
preface,  his  plan  and  motives  having  been  sufficiently 
explained  in  the  preceding  numbers.  He  has  assidu- 
ously endeavoured  to  select  such  pieces  as  are  render- 
ed proper  for  youth,  not  only  by  correctness  of  diction 
and  purity  of  style,  but  by  the  moral  tendency  of  the 
matter  itself.  He  submits  it  to  the  examination  of 
those  interested  in  the  education  of  children,  not  with- 
out a  hope,  that  it  may  prove  a  useful  addition  to  the 
many  valuable  reading  books  already  extant. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

SELECTIONS  from  the  Proverbs,       .         .  9 

Select  Sentences  and  Paragraphs,           .         •  12 

Selections  from  the  Psalms,            ...  19 

Of  God  and  his  Attributes,             ...  23 

Of  Affection  and  Duty  to  Parents,         .         .  ib. 

Of  Cain  and  Abel, 24 

Relative  Duties,             .....  26 

The  Spring, 27 

Providence  over  all, 28 

Account  of  a  Lion  and  a  Dog,  ...  30 
The  care  which  Providence  takes  of  Animals 

during  the  Winter  Season,           .           .  32 

History  of  Job,               34 

The  Works  of  Nature  praise  their  Maker,       .  37 

A  Character, 39 

To  avoid  Vice  the  best  way  to  escape  Censure,  40 
The  blessings  granted  to  us  by  God  in  winter, 

and  to  which  we  pay  too  little  attention,  41 

Industry,      .......  43 

Modesty, 45 

Vegetables  which  preserve  their  verdure  during 

winter, 46 

Anger, 49 

Filial  Piety, 50 

The  first  Lesson  of  Cyrus,             ...  51 

The  Laplanders,            .....  52 

Application,          ......  55 

Exercise  and  Temperance,            ...  56 

The  fear  of  Spectres,             ....  59 

Useful  Information, 60 

On  the  bad  effects  of  Vapours,       ...  64 

Ou  early  improvement,         ....  65 


XI 


CONTENTS. 


Snow,           .... 

«         • 

m 

On  the  Knowledge  of  Ourselves, 

,         , 

68 

Of  the  Elephant, 

,         , 

70 

Remarkable  Story  of  a  Dog,       ^ . 

,         . 

73 

Observations  on  Man  and  the  Brute  Creation, 

74 

Revolutions  which  are  constantly  in 

Nature,  . 

76 

Joy  and  Grief,       .... 

,         , 

77 

Of  Mountains,      .         . 

,         , 

79 

On  Filial  Duty,    .... 

,         , 

81 

Every  thing  in  Nature  tends  to  the  good  of  Ma 

m- 

kind, 

,         , 

82 

On  the  State  of  Sleep, 

,         , 

84 

Of  the  formation  of  Islands, 

,         , 

87 

Pyrrhus  and  Faoricius, 

•                    a 

88 

Of  speaking  publicly  in  the  cause  of  Virtue,  . 

90 

Passion  and  Patience,  . 

92 

On  a  true  Christian  life. 

94 

Of  the  Rhinoceros, 

95 

Of  the  Spherical  form  of  the  Earth, 

97 

Of  the  Camel,      .... 

98 

The  two  Brothers, 

100 

On  Truth  and  Sincerity, 

105 

Of  the  Hurricane, 

.       106 

On  the  short  duration  of  Snow, 

.       107 

The  Excellence  and  Necessity  of  Industry, 

.       109 

Of  the  Ichneumon, 

.       Ill 

The  force  of  Custom,    . 

.       112 

Of  the  Tides,        .... 

.       114 

Use  of  Vegetables, 

.       115 

An  Evening  Contemplation, 

.       117 

On  the  Bottom  of  the  Sea,    . 

.       118 

The  Change  of  Seasons, 

.       120 

Of  the  Chimpanze,  &c. 

.       122 

Of  Whirlpools,     .... 

.       123 

The  wisdom  of  Early  Piety, 

.       125 

The  Shipwreck,    .... 

.       127 

Of  the  Lion,          .... 

.       133 

Of  the  pernicicus  Effects  of  Spirituous  Liquors 

,       134 

CONTENTS. 


Vll 


Of  the  Rattle  Snake,     . 

Worthy  of  Imitation,     .         .         . 

Repentance,  .         .         .         • 

There  is  nothing  New  under  the  Sun 

Of  Volcanoes,       .... 

Of  the  Brown  Bear, 

Of  the  luminous  particles  observed  on  the  surface 

of  the  Sea,  .... 
Of  Cultivating  the  social  Virtues,  . 
Of  the  restless  motion  of  the  Sea,  and  its  effects 

on  the  Land, 
On  the  use  of  Carriages, 
On  the  sense  of  Property, 
The  Heinous  nature  of  Avarice,     . 
The  Greenland  Dog,     . 
Of  Water-Spouts, 
Tho  Polar,  or  Great  White  Bear, 
Of  Humility  in  our  Attainments,     . 
On  the  Study  of  History, 
On  the  Government  of  the  Heart,  . 
Virtue  Man's  Highest  Interest, 
Vicious  Connexions  the  Ruin  of  Virtue, 
On  the  Duties  which  we  owe  to  Society, 
Description  of  a  Cavern, 
The  Sun,  .... 

A  good  Conscience,     . 


136 
138 
140 
141 
144 
145 

148 
150 


.       151 

153 

154 

156 

.    A 157 

.       159 

.       161 

.       163 

Hume,    164 

Blair,     167 

Harris,  171 

Blair,     173 

176 

Sdliman,  179 

183 

185 


SpeecJies  and  Dialogues, 


Address  to  the  Sea,       ....  Keate,    186 
Dr.  Dodd's  Address  to  the  court,  before  he  re- 

ceived  sentence  of  Death,        .         .         .        187 
Address  on  Patriotism,  .         .         .  RusJi,     190 

Exhortation  to  Temperance  in  Pleasures,         .       193 
The  Price  of  a  Victory,         .         .         .         .195 


vili 


CONTENTS. 


The  two  Robbers,  .         .         Dr.  Aikin,  193 

Dialogue  between  Fernando  Cortez  and  William 

Penn,         ....  Lytihton,  200 


Poeti'y. 


On  Creation  and  Providence,     . 

A.  Steele,  206 

Religion,            .         .         .         . 

Blachmore,  207 

Rich  and  Poor, 

Crahhc,  209 

The  Christian  Race, 

Doddridge,  211 

On  Friendship, 

A.  Steele,     ib. 

A  Funeral  Hymn, 

.      do.        213 

Trust  in  the  Goodness  of  God,    . 

.     Cotton,  214 

On  Happiness, 

A.  Steele,  215 

Pride  and  Humility-, 

.      do.        217 

On  War,             .         .         .         . 

.  Porteus,  218 

All  Nature  attests  the  Creator,     , 

219 

Praise  to  the  Creator, 

Barhauld,  221 

Hymn  to  Contentment, 

.  Parnell,  222 

On  the  Improvement  of  Time, 

.    Young,  225 

The  Common  Lot,      ^ 

.    Montgomery,  227 

Hoine,         .... 

do.        228 

The  Victory, 

229 

Day,            .... 

Cunn  ingham  ,232 

The  Universal  Prayer, 

.      Pope,  235 

Address  of  a  Gentleman's  Skull, 

.         .         ^i 

Address  of  a  Lady's  Skull, 

23T 

THE 


NEW-YORK    READER, 

No.  3. 


Selections  from  the  Proverbs, 

He  that  trustcth  in  riches  shall  fall:  but  the 
righteous  shall  flourish  as  a  branch. 

A  righteous  man  regardeth  the  life  of  his  beast : 
but  the  tender  mercies  of  the  wicked  are  cruel. 

He  that  tilleth  his  land  shall  be  satisfied  with 
bread :  but  he  that  followeth  vain  persons,  is  void 
of  understanding. 

.  A  fooPs  wrath  is  presently  known :  but  a  prudent 
man  covereth  shame. 

Lying  lips  are  an  abomination  to  the  Lord :  but 
they  that  deal  truly  are  his  delight. 

The  hand  of  the  diligent  shall  bear  rule  :  but  the 
slothfyj  shall  be  under  tribute. 

i!?*ivise  son  heareth  his  father's  instruction  :  but 
a  scomer  heareth  not  rebuke. 

There  is  that  maketh  himself  rich,  yet  hath' 
nothing :  there  is  that  maketh  himself  poor,  yet  hath 
great  riches. 

The  light  of  the  righteous  rejoiceth :  but  the 
lamp  of  the  wicked  shall  be  put  out. 


10 

Poverty  and  shame  shall  be  to  him  that  refuseth 
instruction:  but  he  that  regardeth  reproof  shall  be 
honoured. 

He  that  walketh  with  wise  men,  shall  be  wise : 
but  a  companion  of  fools  shall  be  destroyed. 

The  simple  believoth  every  word:  but  the  pru- 
dent man  looketh  well  to  his  going. 

He  that  despiseth  his  neighbour  sinneth :  but  he 
that  hath  mercy  on  the  poor,  happy  is  he. 

The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  a  fountain  of  life,  to  de- 
part from  the  snares  of  death. 

He  that  is  slow  to  wrath  is  of  great  understand- 
ing :  but  he  that  is  hasty  of  spirit  exalteth  folly. 

He  that  oppresseth  the  poor,  reproacheth  ins 
Maker:  but  he  that  honoureth  him,  hath  mercy  on 
the  poor. 

The  wicked  is  driven  away  in  his  wickedness : 
but  the  righteous  hath  hope  in  his  death. 

Righteousness  exalteth  a  nation :  but  sin  is  a  re- 
proach to  any  people. 

Hear  the  instruction  of  thy  father,  and  forsake 
not  the  law  of  thy  mother ;  for  they  shall  be  an 
ornament  of  grace  unto  thy  head,  and  chains  about 
thy  neck. 

If  sinners  entice  thee,  consent  thou  not.  Walk 
not  thou  in  the  way  with  them ;  refrain  thy  foot 
from  their  path. 

Trust  in  the  Lord  with  all  thy  heart :  and  lean 
not  unto  thine  own  understanding :  in  all  thy  ways 
acknowledge  him,  and  he  shall  direct  thy  path. 

A  wise  son  maketh  a  glad  father :  but  a  foolish 
son  is  the  heaviness  of  his  mother. 

Treasures  of  wickedness  profit  nothing:  but 
righteousness  delivereth  from  death. 

The  liOrd  will  not  suffer  the  soul  of  the  right- 
eous to  famish :  but  he  casteth  away  the  substance 
of  the  wicked. 


II 

Blessings  are  upon  the  head  of  the  just ;  but 
violence  covereth  the  mouth  of  the  wicked. 

The  memory  of  the  just  is  blessed :  but  the  name 
of  the  wicked  shall  rot. 

He  that  is  void  of  wisdom,  despiseth  his  neigh- 
bour: but  a  man  of  understanding  holdeth  nis 
peace. 

A  tale-bearer  revealeth  secrets :  but  he  that  is  of  a 
faithful  spirit  concealeth  the  matter. 

Where  no  counsel  is,  the  people  fall :  but  in  the 
multitude  of  counsellors  there  is  safety. 

The  merciful  man  doth  good  to  his  own  soul : 
but  he  that  is  cruel  troubleth  his  own  flesh. 

A  word  fitly  spoken  is  like  apples  of  gold  in 
pictures  of  silver. 

Boast  not  of  to-morrow,  for  thou  knowest  not 
what  a  day  may  bring  forth. 

Wrath  is  cruel,  and  anger  outrageous;  but  who 
is  able  to  stand  before  envy  ? 

Faithful  are  the  wounds  of  a  friend ;  but  the  kisses 
of  an  enemy  are  deceitful. 

The  wicked  flee  when  no  man  pursueth,  but  the 
righteous  are  bold  as  a  lion. 

He  that  covereth  his  sins  shall  not  prosper ;  but 
whoso  confesseth  and  forsaketh  them,  shall  have 
mercy. 

He  that  being  often  reproved,  hardeneth  his 
neck,  shall  suddenly  be  destroyed,  and  that  without 
remedy. 

When  the  righteous  are  in  authority,  the  people 
rejoice :  but  when  the  wicked  bear  rule,  the  people 
mourn. 

Favour  is  deceitful,  and  beauty  is  vain ;  but  a 
woman  that  feareth  the  Lord,  shall  be  praised. 


12 


Select  Sentences  and  Paragraphs. 


There  is  not  any  revenge  more  heroic  than 
that  which  torments  envy  by  doing  good. 

There  is  no  greater  sign  of  a  mean  and  sordid 
spirit,  than  to  dote  upon  riches ;  nor  is  any  thing 
more  magnificent,  than  to  lay  them  out  freely  in 
acts  of  bounty  and  liberality. 

Money,  like  manure,  does  no  good  till  it  is 
spread.  There  is  no  real  use  of  riches,  except  it 
be  in  the  distribution. 

The  best  way  to  humble  a  proud  man  is  to  take 
no  notice  of  him. 

If  money  be  not  thy  servant,  it  will  be  thy  mas- 
ter. The  covetous  man  cannot  so  properly  be 
said  to  possess  wealth,  as  wealth  may  be  said  to 
possess  him. 

Hopes  and  fears  checker  human  life.  He  that 
wants  hope  is  the  poorest  man  living. 

None  should  despair ;  for  God  can  help  them : 
none  should  presume ;  for  God  can  cross  them. 

A  man  cannot  be  truly  happy  here,  without  a 
well  grounded  hope  of  being  happy  hereafter. 

There  is  but  one  way  of  fortifying  the  soul  against 
all  gloomy  presages,  and  terrors  of  mind  ;  and  that 
is,  securing  to  ourselves  the  friendship  and  protec- 
tion of  that  Being  who  disposes  of  events,  and 
governs  futurity. 

Amongst  all  virtues,  humility,  though  the  low- 
est, is  pre-eminent.  It  is  the  safest,  because,  it  13 
always  at  anchor  ;  and  that  man  may  be  truly  said 
to  live  with  most  content  in  his  callings  who  strives 
to  live  within  the  compass  of  it. 


13 

Proud  men  have  no  friends  in  prosperity,  be- 
cause, they  know  nobody ;  nor  in  adversitjf^  be- 
cause, nobody  knows  them. 

He  who  thinks  no  man  above  bim,  but  for  his 
virtue,  none  below  him,  but  for  his  vice,  can  never 
be  obsequious  nor  assuming  in  a  wrong  place. 

We  shall  naturally  feel  much  concern  when  we 
look  at  our  losses ;  but  if  we  consider  how  litde  we 
deserve  what  is  left,  our  murmurs  will  be  converted 
into  thankfulness. 

The  discontents  of  the  poor  are  much  easier 
allayed  than  those  of  the  rich. 

A  good  conscience  is  to  the  soul  what  health  is 
to  the  body.  It  preserves  a  constant  ease  and  se- 
renity within  us,  and  more  than  countervails  all  the 
calamities  and  afflictions  which  can  possibly  befall 
us. 

If  we  should  look  with  as  much  compassion  on 
the  adversities  of  some  as  we  do  with  envy  at  the 
prosperity  of  others,  every  man  would  find  cause 
to  sit  down  contentedly  with  his  own  burden. 

The  greater  a  man  is,  the  more  need  he  hath  of 
a  friend,  and  the  more  difficulty  there  is  in  finding 
and  knowing  him. 

Wise  men  are  instructed  by  reason  ;  men  of  less 
understanding,  by  experience ;  the  most  ignorant, 
by  necessity ;  and  beasts,  by  nature. 

It  may  be  safely  affirmed,  that  good  men  gene- 
rally reap  more  substantial  benefit  from  their  af- 
flictions, than  bad  men  do  from  their  prosperity ; 
that  what  they  lose  in  wealth,  pleasure,  or  honour, 
they  gain  with  great  advantage  in  wisdom,  and 
goodness,  and  tranquillity  of  mind. 

Prosperity  is  not  without  its  troubles,  nor  adver- 
sity without  its  comforts. 

Friendship  improves  happiness,  and  abates  mi- 
fiery  by  doubling  our  joy,  and  dividing  our  grief. 


II 

A  man  may  have  a  thousand  intimate  acquaint- 
ance, and  not  a  friend  among  them  all.  If  thou 
liast  one  friend,  think  thyself  happy. 

Gratitude  preserves  old  friends,  and  procures 
new. 

It  is  difficult  to  act  the  part  of  a  true  friend : 
for,  frequently,  by  telling  him  of  his  failings,  we 
lose  his  affection :  and  by  remaining  silent,  we  be- 
tray our  confidence.  But  we  cannot  lose  a  friend 
in  a  more  honourable  way,  than  in  seeking  by  good 
will  to  preserve  him. 

He  that  is  truly  polite,  knows  how  to  contradict 
with  respect,  and  to  please  without  adulation ;  and 
is  equally  remote  from  insipid  complaisance  and 
low  familiarity. 

Modesty  in  your  discourse  will  give  a  lustre  to 
truth,  and  an  excuse  to  your  errors. 

It  is  a  sign  of  wisdom  to  be  willing  to  receive 
instruction :  the  most  intelligent  sometimes  stand  in 
need  of  it. 

Some  men  extinguish  their  own  genius,  by  copy- 
ing and  contriving  to  assume  that  of  others. 

Too  niiich  asseveration  gives  ground  for  suspi- 
cion. Truth  and  honesty  have  no  need  of  loud 
protestations. 

The  greatest  wisdom  of  speech  is  to  know  when, 
and  what,  and  vvhere  to  speak ;  the  next  to  it,  is 
silence. 

From  bad  air  we  take  diseases  ;  from  bad  com- 
pany, vice  and  imperfections. 

Excess  of  ceremony  shows  a  want  of  breeding. 
That  civility  is  best  which  excludes  all  superfluous 
formality. 

There  is  far  more  satisfaction  in  doing  good, 
than  in  receiving  it.  To  relieve  the  oppressed  is 
the  niost  glorious  act  of  which  a  man  is  capable : 


15 

it  IS  in  some  measure  doing  the  business  of  Provi- 
dence ;  and  is  attended  with  a  heavenly  pleasure, 
known  to  those  only  who  are  beneficent  and  libe- 
ral. 

He  that  is  sensible  of  no  evil  but  what  he  feels, 
has  a  hard  heart ;  and  he  that  can  spare  no  kind- 
ness from  himself,  has  a  narrow  soul. 

By  compassion,  we  make  others'  misery  our 
own :  and  so  by  relieving  them,  we  relieve  our- 
selves also. 

It  is  better  to  be  of  the  number  of  those  who 
need  relief,  than  of  those  who  want  hearts  to  give  it 

Ingratitude  is  a  crime  so  shameful,  that  there 
was  never  yet  one  found  that  would  acknowledge 
himself  guilty  of  it. 

He  that  receives  a  benefit  without  being  thank- 
ful, robs  the  giver  of  his  just  reward.  It  must  be 
a  due  reciprocation  in  virtue  that  can  make  the 
obliger  and  obliged  worthy. 

It  is  the  character  of  an  unworthy  disposition  to 
write  injuries  in  marble,  and  benefits  in  sand. 

He  who  preaches  gratitude,  pleads  the  cause  of 
God  and  man ;  for,  without  it,  we  can  be  neither 
sociable  nor  religious. 

The  higher  a  man  is  exalted  above  others  in 
power,  the  more  he  should  excel  them  in  virtue ; 
for  this  reason,  Cyrus  said,  no  man  ought  to  govern 
who  was  not  better  than  those  he  governed. 

Flattery  is  like  false  money ;  and  if  it  were  not 
fca*  our  own  vanity,  could  never  pass  in  payment. 

By  endeavouring  to  purchase  the  reputation  of 
being  witty,  men  often  lose  the  advantage  of  being 
thought  wise. 

The  luxurious  live  to  eat  and  drink ;  but  the  wise 
and  temperate  eat  and  drink  to  live. 
2* 


m^ 


16 

Let  pleasures  be  ever  so  innocent,  excess  in  them 
is  always  criminal. 

Pleasures  unduly  taken,  enervate  the  soul,  and 
make  fools  of  the  w^ise,  and  cowards  of  the  brave. 
A  libertine  life  is  not  a  life  of  liberty. 

The  voluptuous  consumes  his  wealth  ;  the  miser 
hides  it.  It  is  the  wise  man  only  that  uses  it,  and  to 
good  purpose. 

There  is  but  one  solid  pleasure  in  life,  and  that 
is  doing  our  duty.  How  miserable  then,  how  un- 
wise, how  unpardonable  are  they  who  make  that 
one  a  pain  1 

The  greatest  pleasure  wealth  can  afford,  is  that 
of  doing  good.  It  is  a  happy  circumstance  that  a 
man's  pleasure  is  also  his  perfection. 

All  men  of  estates  are,  in  effect,  but  trustees  for 
the  benefit  of  the  distressed ;  and  will  be  so  reck- 
oned when  they  are  to  give  an  account. 

Cast  an  eye  on  the  vain  world,  and  what  see  we, 
for  the  most  part,  but  a  set  of  emaciated,  fluttering, 
fantastical  beings,  worn  out  in  the  keen  pursuit  of 
pleasure ;  creatures  that  know,  own,  condemn, 
deplore,  yet  still  pursue,  their  own  infelicity ;  the 
decayed  monuments  of  error !  the  thin  remains  of 
what  is  called  delight! 

If  we  apply  ourselves  seriously  to  wisdom,  we 
shall  never  live  without  true  pleasure,  but  shall 
learn  to  be  pleased  with  every  thing.  Wc  shall 
be  pleased  with  wealth,  so  far  as  it  makes  us  bene- 
ficial to  others ;  with  poverty,  for  not  having  too 
niuch  to  care  for ;  and  with  obscurity,  for  being 
unenvied. 

Religion  is  so  far  from  depriving  us  of  any  inno- 
cent pleasure  or  comfort  of  human  life,  that  it  pu- 
rifies the  pleasures  of  it,  and  renders  them  more 
grateful   and  generous.      And   besides,   it   brings 


17 

great  pleasures  of  its  own ;  those  of  a  glorious 
hope,  a  serene  mind,  a  calm  and  undisturbed  con- 
science; which  far  surpass  the  enjoyments  pro- 
duced by  the  most  studied  and  artificial  luxuries. 

Nothing  appears  so  low  and  mean  as  lying  and 
dissimulation:  and,  it  is  observable,  that  only 
weak  animals  endeavour  to  supply  by  craft  the 
defects  of  strength,  which  nature  has  not  given 
them. 

Truth  may  be  expressed  without  art  or  affecta- 
tion ;  but  a  lie  stands  in  need  of  both. 

Truth  is  born  with  us ;  and  we  must  do  violence 
to  our  nature,  to  shake  off  our  veracity. 

Such  was  the  ingenuous  simplicity  of  the  primi- 
tive christians,  that  they  considered  it  a  reproach 
to  be  put  upon  their  oaths,  thinking*  it  sufficient 
for  a  good  man  to  give  this  assurance  of  truth,  '1 
speak  truly.'  They  counted  it  an  impious  thing 
even  to  dissemble  the  truth,  and  scorned  to  live 
upon  the  base  terms  of  being  beholden  to  hypocri- 
sy for  their  lives. 

When  a  man  owns  himself  to  be  in  an  error,  he 
does  but  tell  you  in  other  words,  that^he  is  wiser 
than  he  was. 

A  man  that  does  the  best  he  can,  does  all  that 
he  should  do. 

If  a  man  cannot  find  ease  within  himself,  it  is  to 
little  purpose  to  seek  it  elsewhere. 

Choose  that  course  of  life  which  is  the  most  ex- 
cellent, and  custom  will,  render  it  the  most  de- 
lightful. 

Be  always  at  leisure  to  do  good;  never  make 
business  an  excuse  to  decline  the  offices  of  humanity. 

Defer  not  charities  till  death ;  he  that  doth  so, 
is  liberal  rather  of  another  man's  wealth  than  of 
his  own. 


^^mten^ 


18 

In  the  morning,  think  what  thou  hast  to  do ;  and 
at  night,  ask  thyself  what  thou  hast  done. 

Spend  the  day  well,  and  thou  wilt  rejoice  at 
night. 

Avoid  as  much  as  you  can  the  company  of  all 
vicious  persons  whatever ;  for  no  vice  is  alone,  and 
all  are  infectious. 

There  are  but  few  who  know  how  to  be  idle  and 
innocent.     By  doing  nothing,  we  learn  to  do  ill. 

How  unreasonable  it  is,  to  begin  to  hve  only 
when  we  can  live  no  longer  I  That  man  does  not 
live  as  he  should  do,  who  does  not  live  every  day  as 
though  it  were  his  last. 

^  The  true  spirit  of  religion  cheers  as  well  as  com- 
poses the  soul.  It  is  not  the  business  of  virtue  to 
extirpate  the  affections  of  the  mind,  but  to  regulate 
them. 

Though  it  be  a  tmth  very  little  received,  that 
virtue  is  its  own  reward,  it  surely  is  an  undeniable 
one,  that  vice  is  its  own  punishment. 

Firm  faith  and  true  honesty  are  not  to  be  forced 
by  necessity,  nor  corrupted  by  reward. 

A  little  wrong  done  to  another,  is  a  great  injury 
done  to  ourselves.  The  severest  punishment  of 
an  injury,  is  the  consciousness  of  having  done  it  ; 
and  no  man  suffers  more  than  he  that  is  turned  over 
to  the  pain  of  repentance. 


\ 


19 


Selections  from  tJie  Psalms, 


Blessed  is  the  man  that  walketh  not  in  the 
counsel  of  the  ungodly,  nor  standeth  in  the  way 
of  sinners,  •  nor  sittcth  in  the  seat  of  the  scornful. 
But  his  delight  is  in  the  law  of  the  Lord,  and  in 
his  law  doth  he  meditate  day  and  night.  And  he 
shall  be  like  a  tree  planted  by  the  rivers  of  water, 
that  bringeth  forth  his  fruit  in  his  season :  his  leaf 
also  shall  not  wither;  and  whatsoever  he  doeth 
shall  prosper.  The  ungodly  are  not  so  :  but  are 
like  the  chaff  which  the  wind  driveth  away. 

The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God:  and 
the  firmament  showeth  his  handy  work.  Day  unto 
day  uttereth  speech,  and  night  unto  niglit  show- 
eth knowledge.  There  is  no  speech  nor  language 
where  their  voice  is  not  heard.  Their  line  is  gone 
out  through  all  the  earth,  and  their  words  to  the 
end  of  the  world. 

The  law  of  the  Lord  is  perfect,  converting  the 
soul :  the  testimony  of  the  Lord  is  sure,  making 
wise  the  simple.  The  statutes  of  the  Lord  are 
right,  rejoicing  the  heart :  the  commandment  of 
the  Lord  is  pure,  enlightening  the  eyes.  The 
fear  of  the  Lord  is  clean,  enduring  forever  :  the  judg- 
ments of  the  Lord  are  true  and  righteous  alto- 
gether; more  to  be  desired  are  they  than  gold,  yea, 
than  much  fine  gold:  sweeter  also  than  honey, 
and  the  honey-comb.  Moreover,  by  them  is  thy 
servant  warned :  and  in  keeping  them  there  is  great 
reward. 


20 

The  Lord  is  my  shepherd:  1  shall  not  want 
He  maketh  me  to  He  down  in  green  pastures :  he 
leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters.  He  restoreth 
my  soul :  he  leadeth  me  in  the  path  of  righteous- 
ness, for  his  name''s  sake. 

Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil;  for  thou  art 
with  me ;  thy  rod  and  thy  staff,  they  comfort  me. 
Thou  preparest  a  table  before  me  in  the  presence 
of  mine  enemies :  thou  anointest  my  head  with 
oil ;  my  cup  runneth  over.  Surely  goodness  and 
mercy  shall  follow  me  all  the  days  of  my  life ;  and 
I  will  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  forever. 

The  Lord  is  my  light  and  my  salvation ;  whom 
shall  I  fear?  The  Lord  is  the  strength  of  my  life  ; 
of  whom  shall  I  be  afraid  ?  When  the  wicked, 
even  mine  enemies  and  foes,  come  upon  me  to  cut 
up  my  flesh,  they  stumble  and  fall. 

Though  an  host  should  encamp  against  me,  my 
heart  shall  not  fear:  though  war  should  rise 
against  me,  in  this  will  I  be  confident.  One  thing 
have  I  desired  of  the  Lord,  this  will  I  seek  after: 
that  I  may  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord,  all  the 
days  of  my  life,  to  behold  the  beauty  of  the  Lord, 
and  to  inquire  in  his  temple. 

Fret  not  thyself  because  of  evil  doers,  neither 
be  thou  envious  against  the  workers  of  iniquity. 
For  they  shall  soon  be  cut  down  like  the  grass, 
and  wither  as  the  green  herb.  Trust  in  the  Lord, 
and  do  good ;  so  shalt  thou  dwell  in  the  land,  and 
verily  thou  shalt  be  fed. 

A  little  that  a  righteous  man  hath,  is  better  than 
the  riches  of  many  wicked. 

The  steps  of  a  good  man  are  ordered  of  the 
Lord;  and  he  delighteth'in  his  way.  Though  he 
fall,  he  shall  not  be  utterly  cast  down:   for  tbe 


21 

liOrd  holdeth  him  in  his  hand.  I  have  been  young, 
and  now  am  old ;  yet  have  I  not  seen  the  right- 
eous forsaken,  nor  his  seed  begging  bread.  I 
have  seen  the  wicked  in  great  power,  and  spread- 
ing  himself  like  a  green  bay-tree  ;  yet  he  passed 
away,  and  lo,  he  was  not :  yea,  I  sought  him,  and 
he  could  not  be  found.  Mark  the  perfect  man, 
and  behold  the  upright :  for  the  end  of  that  man  is 
peace. 

Blessed  is  he  that  considereth  the  poor:  the 
Lord  will  deliver  him  in  time  of  trouble.  The 
Lord  will  preserve  him  and  keep  him  alive  ;  and 
he  shall  be  blessed  upon  the  earth ;  and  thou  wilt 
not  deliver  him  into  the  will  of  his  enemies.  The 
Lord  will  strengthen  him  upon  the  bed  of  languish- 
ing :  thou  wilt  make  all  his  bed  in  his  sickness. 

They  that  trust  in  their  wealth,  and  boast  them- 
selves in  the  multitude  of  their  riches ;  none  of 
them  can  by  any  means  redeem  his  brother,  nor 
give  to  God  a  ransom  for  him. 

Be  not  thou  afiaid  when  one  is  made  rich,  when 
the  glory  of  his  house  is  increased ;  for  when  he 
dieth,  he  shall  carry  nothing  away  :  his  glory  shall 
not  descend  after  him. 

My  soul,  wait  thou  only  upon  God,  for  my  ex- 
pectation is  from  him.  He  only  is  my  rock  and 
my  salvation  :  he  is  my  defence ;  I  shall  not  be 
moved.  In  God  is  my  salvation  and  my  glory : 
the  rock  of  my  strength  and  my  refuge  is  in  God. 
Trust  in  him  at  all  times;  ye  people  pour  out 
vour  hearts  before  him  :  God  is  a  refuge  for  us. 

Trust  not  in  oppression,  and  become  not  vain  ih 
robbery :  if  riches  increase,  set  not  your  heart  upon 
them. 

He  that  dwelleth  in  the  secret  places  of  the 
Most  High,  shall  abide  under  the  shadow  of  the 


Almkht)^^/!  will  say  of  the  Lord,  he  is  my  re- 
fuge^siiroyj^tress  :  my  God,  in  him  will  I  trust. 
Surely  he  .^ha'P  deliver  thee  from  the  snare  of  tho 
fowler,  and  from  the  noisome  pestilence.  He  shall 
cover  thee  with  his  feathers,  and  under  his  wings 
shcilt  thou  trust :  his  truth  shall  be  thy  shield  and 
buckler.  Thou  shalt  not  be  afraid  for  the  terror 
by  night ;  nor  for  the  arrow  that  flieth  by  day ; 
nor  for  the  pestilence  that  walketh  in  darkness ; 
nor  for  the  destruction  that  waste th  at  noon-day. 
Because  thou  hast  made  the  Lord  which  is  my 
refuge,  even  the  Most  High,  thy  habitation ;  there 
shall  no  evil  befall  thee,  neither  shall  any  plague 
come  nigh  thy  dwelling. 

They  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  that  do 
business  in  great  waters,  these  see  the  works  of 
the  Lord,  and  his  wonders  in  the  deep.  For  he 
commandeth,  and  raiseth  the  stormy  wind,  which 
I'ffteth  up  the  waves  thereof.  They  mount  up  to 
the  heaven,  they  go  down  again  to  the  depths ; 
their  soul  is  melted  because  of  trouble.  They  reel 
to  and  fro,  and  stagger  like  a  drunken  man,  and 
are  at  their  wit's  end.  Then  they  cry  unto  the 
Lord  in  their  trouble,  and  he  bringeth  them  out  of 
their  distresses.  He  maketh  the  storm  a  calm, 
so  that  the  waves  thereof  are  still.  Then  are  they 
glad,  because  they  be  quiet:  so  he  bringeth  them 
into  their  desired  haven.  Oh,  that  men  would 
praise  the  Lord  for  his  goodness,  and  for  his  won- 
derful works  unto  the  children  of  men ! 

The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom  ; 
a  good  understanding  have  all  they  that  do  his  com- 
mandments :  his  praise  endureth  forever. 


23 


Of  God  and  his  Attributes, 

There  is  but  one  God.  He  made  the  heaven, 
and  the  heaven  of  heavens,  vi^ith  all  their  host ; 
the  earth,  and  all  things  that  are  therein :  the  seas, 
and  all  that  is  therein.  He  said,  let  them  be,  and 
it  was  so.  He  stretched  forth  the  heavens,  and  laid 
the  foundation  of  the  earth. 

He  hath  shut  up  the  sea  as  with  doors,  and  said, 
hitherto  shalt  thou  come  and  no  further,  and  here 
shall  thy  proud  waves  be  stayed.  The  Lord  is  an 
invisible  spirit,  in  whom  we  live,  and  move,  and 
have  our  being.     He  is  the  fountain  of  life. 

He  preserveth  man  and  beast.  He  giveth  food 
to  all  flesh.  In  his  hand  is  the  soul  of  every  living 
thing,  and  the  breath  of  all  mankind. 

The  Lord  maketh  poor  and  maketh  rich.  He 
bringeth  low  and  lifteth  up.  He  killeth  and  ma- 
keth alive.  He  woundeth  and  healeth  ;  and  not  a 
sparrow  falleth  to  the  ground  without  him.  He 
appointeth  the  moon  for  seasons,  and  the  sun 
knoweth  his  going  down. 

He  thundereth  with  his  voice,  and  directeth  it 
under  the  whole  heaven,  and  his  lightning  unto  the 
ends  of  the  earth.  Fire  and  hail,  snow  and  vapour, 
wind  and  storm,  fulfil  his  word.  The  Lord  is  king 
for  ever  and  ever,  and  his  dominion  is  an  everlast- 
mg  dominion. 


Of  Affection  and  Duty  to  Parents. 

From  the  creatures  of  God  let  man  learn  wis- 
dom, and   apply  to  himself  the  instruction   they 


24 

give.  Go  to  the  desert,  my  son,  observe  the 
young  stork  of  the  wilderness,  let  him  speak  to  thy 
heart ;  he  beareth  on  las  wings  his  aged  sire,  he 
lodgeth  him  in  safet)^,  and  supplieth  him  with  food. 

The  piety  of  a  child  is  sweeter  than  the  incense 
of  Persia:  yea,  more  delicious  than  odours  waft- 
ed from  a  field  of  Arabian  spices,  by  the  gentlest 
gales.  Be  grateful  then  to  thy  father,  for  he  gave 
thee  life;  and  to  thy  mother,  for  she  sustained 
thee. 

Hear  the  words  of  his  mouth,  for  they  are  spo- 
ken for  thy  good:  give  ear  to  his  admonition,  for 
it  proceedeth  from  love.  He  hath  watched  for  thy 
welfare,  he  hath  toiled  for  thy  ease :  do  honour, 
therefore,  to  his  age,  and  let  not  his  gray  hairs  be 
treated  with  disrespect.  * 

Also,  forget  not  thy  helpless  infancy,  nor  the 
frowardness  of  thy  youth,  and  indulge  the  infirmi- 
ties of  thy  aged  parents ;  assist  and  support  them 
in  the  decline  of  life.  So  shall  their  hoary  heads 
go  down  to  the  grave  in  peace  ;  and  thine  own 
children,  in  reverence  of  thy  example,  shall  repay 
thy  piety  with  filial  love 


Of  Cain  and  Abel, 

Cain  and  Abel,  the  first  two  sons  of  Adam 
and  Eve,  pursued  very  diflferent  employments. 
Abel  was  a  keeper  of  sheep  :  but  Cain  was  a  tiller 
of  the  ground.  Their  tempers  were  as  different 
as  their  occupations.  Abel  was  a  lover  of  righte- 
ousness, and  obedient  tp  his  parents.  Cain  was 
obstinate  and  vijicked;  neither  fearing  God,  nor 
loving  man. 


25 

It  was  usual  in  the  infancy  of  the  world,  to  pre- 
sent oblations  to  God,  the  giver  of  every  good  gift. 
When,  therefore,  the  two  brothers  brought  their 
offerings,  the  sacrifice  of  Abel,  on  ac(^ount  of  his 
piety  and  goodness,  was  more  acceptable  to  God 
tlian  the  offering  of  Cain. 

The  Lord  also  condescended  to  reason  with 
Cain,  and  to  assure  him,  that  if  he  would  be  good 
and  righteous,  he  and  his  offerings  should  likewise 
be  accepted. 

But,  instead  of  reforming  hi«  behaviour  and 
temper,  he  grew  worse  and  worse.  He  hated  his 
brother  more  and  more.  At  length,  his  malice  and 
anger  became  so  violent,  that  he  "  rose  up  against 
Abel  and  slew  him." 

He  flattered  himself  that  there  was  no  witness  of 
his  guilt,  and  that  no  one  would  know  it.  But  there 
is  no  safety,  except  in  innocence  and  virtue.  Wher- 
ever we  are,  and  whatever  we  do,  we  are  under  the 
immediate  eye  of  God. 

The  Almighty  Judge  was  a  spectator  of  tlie 
crime,  and  afterwards  expostulated  with  him; 
*'  Where  is  Abel  thy  brother  ?  What  hast  thou 
done?  Tlie  voice  of  thy  brother's  blood  crieth  from 
the  ground."  He  then  pronounced  judgment  upon 
tlie  murderer. 

In  consequence  of  which,  Cain  removed  with 
his  wife  and  children  from  his  habitation;  and, 
having  wandered  from  place  to  place,  "  as  a  fugi- 
tive and  vagabond,"  at  length  settled  in  the  land 
of  Nod.  He,  however,  still  carried  the  mark  of 
his  guilt  along  with  him.  He  was  vexed  with  the 
horror  of  conscience  within,  and  calamities  without. 

He  walked  upon  earth  a  woful  spectacle,  labour- 
ing under  the  distemper  of  a  wounded  spirit,  which 
no  medicine  can  cure. 


26 

Let  us  guard  carefully  against  the  first  appear- 
ance of  hatred  and  malice,  lest  they  should  in- 
crease upon  us  by  degrees,  and  hurry  us  into  the 
most  shocking  excesses.  "An  angry  man  stirreth 
up  stnfe,  and  a  furious  man  aboundetli  in  trans- 
gressions." 


Relative  Duties. 

The  happiness  of  parents  is  so  connected  witn 
the  goodness  of  children,  that  if  they  are  undutiful, 
negligent,  and  wicked,  it  will  make  their  parents 
miserable.  And  can  ye,  my  young  friends,  bear 
the  thought  of  making  them  unhappy,  whose  sole 
aim  in  life  is  to  promote  your  felicity  ? 

Can  you  receive  with  sullenness  that  advice 
which  is  designed  entirely  for  your  good?  Do 
they  not  provide  for  all  your  wants  ?  And  are  you 
not  indebted  to  their  kindness  for  your  food,  your 
clothing,  and  every  convenience  which  you  enjoy? 

Obedience  to  your  parents  is  one  of  the  first 
duties  you  can  perform  in  life,  and  is  the  only  return 
you  can  make  for  those  continual  favours  which 
you  daily  receive. 

As  human  nature  is  subject  to  many  wants,  the 
Almighty  has  ordained  that  we  should  live  toge- 
ther, and  that  numbers,  by  helping  each  other, 
should  procure  those  conveniences,  which  no  man 
alone  could  obtain. 

Every  person,  therefore,  has  some  duties  to 
perform,  which  are  known  by  the  name  of  social 
duties ;  because,  if  it  were  possible  for  us  to  live 
quite  alone,  those  duties  could  not  be  exerted. 


27 

For,  had  we  no  parents,  we  could  not  obey 
them ;  had  we  no  brothers  nor  sisters,  we  could  not 
love  them  ;  had  we  no  friends  nor  instructors,  we 
could  not  be  thankful  and  attentive  to  them ; 
and,  if  we  knew  no  persons  who  were  poor  and 
wretched,  we  could  not  be  kind  and  charitable. 


The  Spring, 


Come,  let  us  go  forth  into  the  fields,  let  us  see 
how  the  flowers  spring,  let  us  listen  to  the  warb- 
ling of  the  birds,  and  seat  ourselves  upon  the  bank, 
viewing  the  verdure  of  the  new  grass. 

When  winter  is  over  and  gone,  the  buds  come 
out  upon  the  trees,  the  crimson  blossoms  of  the 
peach  and  the  nectarine  are  seen,  and  the  green 
leaves  sprout. 

The  hedges  are  bordered  with  tufts  of  prim- 
roses, and  yellow  cowslips  that  hang  down  their 
heads ;  and  the  blue  violet  lies  hid  beneath  the 
shade. 

The  young  goslings  run  upon  the  green,  when 
they  are  just  hatched :  their  bodies  are  covered  with 
yellow  down ;  the  old  ones  hiss  with  anger,  if  any 
one  comes  near. 

The  hen  sits  upon  her  nest  of  straw,  she  watches 
patiently  the  full  time,  then  she  carefully  breaks  the 
shell,  and  the  little  chicken  comes  out. 

The  young  lambs  may  be  seen  in  the  field,  they 

totter  by  the  side  of  their  dams,  their  weak  limbs 

can  hardly  support  their  weight ;    but  in   a  little 

time  they  skip  about.     But  if  they  foil,  there  is 

3* 


28 

spread  under  them  a  carpet  of  soft  grass,  on  which 
they  may  feed  in  safety. 

The  butterflies  flutter  from  bush  to  bush,  and 
open  their  wings  to  the  warm  sun. 

The  young  animals  of  every  kind  are  sporting 
about,  they  seem  happy  in  their  situation,  they  are 
glad  to  be  alive.  If  tliey  could  speak,  they  would 
praise  him  who  made  them.  The  birds  can  warble, 
and  the  young  lambs  can  bleat ;  but  we  can  open 
our  lips,  and  ought  to  speak  thankfully  of  all  his 
goodness. 

The  trees  that  blossom,  and  little  lambs  that 
skip  about,  if  they  could,  they  would  say  how  good 
lie  is ;  but  they  are  dumb,  let  us  therefore  say  it  for 
them. 


Providence  over  AIL 


Behold  the  shepherd  of  the  flock,  he  taketh 
care  for  the  sheep,  he  leadeth  them  among  clear 
brooks,  he  guideth  them  to  fresh  pasture ;  if  the 
yOung  lambs  are  weary,  he  carrieth  them  in  his 
arms  ;  if  they  wander,  he  bringeth  them  back. 

But  who  is  the  shepherd's  shepherd?  who 
taketh  care  for  him  ?  who  guideth  him  in  the  path 
he  should  go?  and  if  he  wander,  who  shall  bring 
him  back? 

God  is  the  shepherd's  shepherd  ;  he  is  the  shep- 
herd over  all ;  he  taketh  care  for  all ;  the  whole 
earth  is  his  fold ;  we  are  all  his  flock :  and  every 
herb,  and  every  green  field,  is  the  pasture  which  he 
hath  prepared  for  us. 


29 

The  mother  lovcth  her  little  child ;  sho  bring- 
eth  it  up  on  her  knees ;  she  nourisheth  its  body 
with  food  ;  she  feedeth  its  mind  with  knowledge ; 
if  it  is  sick,  she  nurseth  it  with  tender  love ;  she 
watcheth  over  it  when  asleep  ;  she  teacheth  it 
now  to  be  good:  she  rejoiceth  daily  in  its  growth. 

But  who  is  the  parent  of  the  mother?  who 
nourisheth  her  with  good  things,  and  watcheth 
over  her  with  tender  love,  and  remembereth  her 
every  evening  and  morning  ?  whose  arnlfe  are  about 
her  to  guard  her  from  harm  ?  and  if  she  is  sick,  who 
shall  heal  her  ? 

God  is  the  parent  of  the  mother  ;  he  is  the  parent 
of  all,  for  he  created  all.  All  the  men  and  all  the 
women,  who  are  alive  in  the  wide  world,  are  his 
children  ;  he  loveth  all,  he  is  good  to  all. 

The  good  king  governeth  his  people  in  mercy, 
and  love;  he  hath  a  crown  put  upon  his  head,  and 
a  sceptre  in  his  hand  ;  he  sitteth  upon  a  throne, 
and  sendeth  forth  his  commands ;  his  subjects  fear 
before  him  ;  if  they  do  well,  he  endeavoureth  to 
protect  them  from  danger;  if  they  do  evil,  he 
punisheth  them. 

But  who  is  the  sovereign  of  the  king?  who  com- 
mandeth  him  what  he  must  do  ?  whose  hand  is 
stretched  out  to  protect  him  from  danger?  and  if 
he  doeth  evil,  who  shall  punish  him  ? 

God  is  the  sovereign  of  the  king ;  he  is  King  of 
kings,  and  Lord  of  lords  ;  his  dominion  is  over  all 
worlds,  and  the  light  of  his  countenance  is  upon  all 
his  works. 

God  is  our  shepherd,  therefore  we  should  follow 
him:  He  is  our  father,  therefore  we  should  love 
and  obey  him  :  He  is  our  king,  therefore  we  should 
honour  him,  by  being  faithful  to  his  laws. 


30 


Remarkable  account  of  a  Lion  and  a 


Dog. 


It  was  customary  for  those  who  were  unable  to 
pay  sixpence  for  the  sight  of  the  wild  beasts  in  the 
lower,  to  bring  a  dog  or  a  cat  as  a  gift  to  the  beasts, 
in  lieu  of  nfbney,  to  the  keeper. 

Among  others,  a  man  had  brought  a  pretty  black 
spaniel,  which  was  thrown  into  the  cage  of  the 
great  lion.  Immediately  the  little  animal  trembled 
and  shivered,  crouched,  and  threw  itself  on  its  back, 
put  forth  its  tongue,  and  held  up  its  paws,  as  if 
praying  for  mercy. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  lion,  instead  of  devouring 
it,  turned  it  over  with  one  paw,  and  then  turned  it 
with  the  other.  He  smelled  of  it,  and  seemed  de- 
sirous of  courting  a  further  acquaintance. 

The  keeper,  on  seeing  this,  brought  a  large  mess 
of  his  own  family  dinner.  But  the  lion  kept  aloof, 
and  refused  to  eat,  keeping  his  eye  on  the  dog,  and 
inviting  him,  as  it  were,  to  be  his  taster. 

At  length  the  little  animal's  fears  being  some- 
what abated,  and  his  appetite  quickened  by  the 
smell  of  the  victuals,  he  approached  slowly,  and 
with  trembling,  ventured  to  eat. 

The  lion  then  advanced  gently,  and  began  to 
partake,  and  they  finished  their  meal  very  quietly 
together. 

From  this  day  a  strict  friendship  commenced 
between  them,  consisting  of  great  affection  and 
tenderness  on  the  part  of  the  lion,  and  of  the  ut- 
most confidence  and  boldness  on  the  part  of  the 
dog:  insomuch  that  he  would  lay  himself  down  to 


31 

sleep,  within  the  fangs  and  under  tlie  jaws  of  his 
terrible  patron. 

In  about  twelve  months  the  little  spaniel  sick- 
ened and  died.  For  a  time,  the  lion  did  not  ap- 
pear to  conceive  otherwise  than  that  his  favourite 
was  asleep.  He  would  continue  to  smell  of  him, 
and  then  would  stir  him  witli  his  nose,  and  turn  him 
over  with  his  paws. 

But,  finding  that  all  his  efforts  to  wake  him 
were  vain,  he  would  traverse  his  cage  from  end  to 
end,  at  a  swift  and  uneasy  pace.  He  would  then 
stop,  and  look  down  upon  him  with  a  fixed  and 
drooping  regard ;  and  again  lift  up  his  head,  and 
roar  for  several  minutes,  as  the  sound  of  distant 
thunder. 

They  attempted,  but  in  vain,  to  convey  the  car- 
cass from  him.  He  watched  it  continually,  and 
would  suffer  nothing  to  touch  it.  The  keeper 
then  endeavoured  to  tempt  him  with  a  variety  of 
food,  bljt  he  turned  from  all  that  was  offered,  with 
loathing.  4^-^.  . 

They  then  put  s^^fSPfiving  dogs  in  his  cage, 
which  he  tore  in  pieces,  but  left  their  members  on 
the  floor.  His  passions  being  thus  inflamed,  he 
would  grapple  at  the  bars  of  his  cage,  as  if  enraged 
at  his  restraint  from  teaiing  those  around  him  to 
pieces. 

Again,  as  quite  spent,  he  would  stretch  himself 
by  the  remains  of  his  beloved  associate,  lay  his 
paws  upon  him,  and  take  him  to  his  bosom ;  and 
then  utter  his  grief  in  deep-'dnd  melancholy  roaring 
for  the  loss  of  his  little  playfellow,  his  late  friend, 
the  only  companion  of  his  den. 

For  five  days  he  thus  languished,  and  gradually 
declined,  without  taking  any  sustenance  or  admit- 
ting any  comfort ;   till  one  morning,  he  was  found 


32 

Head,  with  his   head  recHned  on  the   carcass   of 
his  little  friend.     They  were  both   interred   toge 
Iher. 


TJie  Care  wJdcJi  Providence   takes   of 
Animals  durin^r  the  Winter  Season. 


However  wonderful  the  preservation  of  hu- 
man creatures  may  be,  we  can  say  with  truth, 
that  the  care  of  Providence  towards  animals,  is 
a  still  greater  proof  of  his  wisdom,  power,  and 
goodness. 

That  the  prodigious  number  of  animals  which 
our  globe  contains,  should  find  food  or  habitation 
in  summer,  is  not  surprising,  because  all  nature 
then  is  disposed  to  concur  towards  that  end.  But 
that  in  winter,  the  same  number  of  creatures,  those 
millions  of  quadrupeds,  of  reptiles,  of  birds,  of  in- 
sects, and  of  fishes,  should  continue  to  exist,  is  a 
circumstance  which  must  excite  our  admiration. 

Nature  has  provided  most  animals  with  a  cover- 
ing, by  means  of  which  they  can  bear  the  cold,  and 
procure  themselves  food  in  winter  as  well  as  in 
summer.  The  bodies  of  wild  beasts,  which  inha- 
bit forests  and  deserts,  are  so  formed,  that  the  hair 
falls  oft'  in  summer,  and  grows  again  in  the  winter, 
till  it  becomes  a  fur,  which  enables  the  animal  to 
endure  the  most  severe  cold. 

Other  kinds  of  animals  find  an  asylum  under  the 
bark  of  trees,  in  old  crevices,  in  hollows  of  rocks 
and  caves,  when  the  cold  obliges  them  to  quit  their 
summer  dwelling. 


33 

It  is  there  that  some  carry  beforehand  the  food 
whicli  is  to  serve  them,  and  thus  live  on  what  they 
have  gathered  in  the  summer;  others  pass  tlie 
winter  in  profound  sleep.  Nature  has  given  to 
several  sorts  of  birds  an  instinct,  which  prompts 
them  to  change  place  at  the  approach  of  winter. 

They  are  seen  flying  in  great  numbers  into  warm- 
er climates.  Several  animals,  who  are  not  design- 
ed to  travel,  find,  notwithstanding,  their  wants 
supplied  in  this  season.  Birds  know  how  to  find 
out  insects  in  moss,  and  the  crevices  of  the  \)Qxk 
of  trees.  Several  kinds  of  quadrupeds  carry  pro- 
vision in  summer  into  caves,  and  feed  on  it  m 
winter. 

Others  are  obliged  to  seek  their  subsistence  un- 
der the  snow  and  ice.  Several  sorts  of  insects,  in 
winter  confined  to  marshes  and  frozen  rivers,  are 
deprived  of  food  for  that  time,  and  still  preserve 
life.  Perhaps  also,  many  means  made  use  of  by 
Providence  for  the  preservation  of  animals,  are  y^t 
concealed  from  us. 

From  the  elephant  to  the  mite,  all  animals  owe 
to  him  their  dwelling,  their  food,  and  their  life; 
and  even  where  nature  herself  seems  barren  of  re- 
sources, he  finds  means  to  make  amends  for  her 
poverty. 

Let  this  consideration  strengthen  our  confidence 
in  God.  How  can  anxiety,  care,  or  anguish,  get 
access  into  our  hearts,  or  make  us  despair  of  being 
preserved  during  the  winter  ?  That  God  who  pro- 
vides for  the  animals,  will  not  forsake  mankind. 

He  who  shows  himself  so  great  in  smaller  ob- 
jects, will  be  still  greater  in  the  more  important. 
He  who  provides  a  covering  for  animals,  will  be 
able  to  clothe  us.  He  who  points  out  to  them  u 
retreat  in  the  caves  of  the  mountains,  will  find  fcjr 


34 

US  an  asyiiim  to  pass  our  days  in  quietness.  He 
who  has  prepared  for  them,  even  under  the  snow 
and  ice,  their  proper  food,  will  be  able  to  provide 
for  us  in  the  most  critical  seasons. 

In  fine,  let  these  reflections  lead  us  to  imitate, 
as  much  as  our  faculties  will  permit,  the  gene- 
rous care  of  Divine  Providence,  in  contributing  to 
the  preservation  and  happiness  of  our  fellow-crea- 
tures, and  even  to  the  welfare  of  every  living 
animal. 

To  be  cruel  towards  animals,  to  refuse  them 
food  and  convenience,  is  an  act  manifestly  contra- 
ry to  the  will  of  our  common  Creator,  whose  benefi- 
cent cares  extend  even  to  those  beings  which  are 
inferior  to  us. 


History  of  Job, 


Job,  who  lived  in  the  eastern  land  of  Uz,  was 
a  person  of  exalted  rank.  His  substance  and 
possessions  were  very  great;  but  he  was  more 
distinguished  and  honoured  for  his  piety  and  be- 
nevolence. He  had  seven  sons  and  three  daugh- 
ters. 

In  the  history  of  this  good  man,  Satan  is  repre- 
sented as  suspecting  his  sincerity,  and  alleging, 
that  if  he  were  deprived  of  his  fortune  and  healtli, 
his  temper  and  conduct  would  change  with  his 
circumstances. 

Permission,  therefore,  was  granted  by  the  Al- 
mighty, for  the  trial  of  his  integrity,  and  accord 
ingly,  afflictions  were  heaped  upon  his  head.     He 


35 

became  as  remarkable  for  calamity  as  lie  had  been 
for  prosperity. 

His  oxen  and  camels  were  taken  away  by  rob- 
bers ;  his  sheep  were  consumed  by  lightning  ;  and 
his  children  overwhelmed  by  a  house  blown  down 
by  a  whirlwind.  He  himself  was  seized  with  a 
violent  distemper,  which  overspread  his  body  from 
the  sole  of  his  foot  unto  the  crown  of  his  head. 

His  friends  concluded,  from  his  uncommon  cala- 
mities, that  he  was  a  great  sinner,  and  a  hypocrite, 
and  advised  him  to  confess  his  guilt.  Job  ac- 
knowledges that  he  was  not  infallible  and  free 
from  common  failings,  and  that,  consequently,  he 
ought  to  be  humble  and  submissive  under  the  hand 
of  God. 

He  insists,  however,  that  he  was  honest  and 
sincere  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty,  and  appeals,  in 
vindication  of  it,  from  the  false  judgment  of  men  to 
the  unerring  judgment  of  God. 

He  asserts,  that  there  is  little  or  no  difference 
between  the  righteous  and  the  wicked,  in  the  ex- 
ternal administration  of  Providence ;  that  both 
are  liable  to  the  same  misfortunes,  and  often  in- 
volved in  one  common  ruin.  This  fully  proves, 
that  there  must  be  a  future  state,  in  which  the 
righteous,  who  suffer  here,  will  be  signally  re- 
warded. 

At  length,  in  order  to  determine  the  debate, 
the  unerring  Judge  himself  is  represented  as  inter- 
posing, to  show  how  unable  men  are  to  explain  the 
ways  and  designs  of  Heaven,  ?ftid  to  declare  in 
favour  of  Job  against  the  opinion  of  iiis  friends. 
"  Ye  have  not  spoken  of  me  the  thing  that  is  right, 
as  my  servant  Job  hath." 

He  then  put  an  end  to  his  sufferings,  blessed 


36 

him  with  a  numerous  offspring,  and  "gave  him 
twice  as  much  wealth  as  he  had  before ;"  so  that 
the  latter  end  of  his  life  was  more  prosperous  than 
the  beginning  of  it. 

We  should  learn  from  the  history  of  Job,  not 
to  judge  and  condemn  others,  because  they  are 
poor  or  sick,  or  under  any  calamity.  Afflictions 
are  no  proof  of  a  person's  being  wicked  and  for- 
saken by  God.  "  Whom  the  Lord  loveth  he 
chasteneth,  and  scourgeth  every  son  whom  he 
receiveth." 

The  example  of  Job  teaches  us  to  employ  our- 
selves and  our  wealth  in  doing  good  to  othei-s, 
according  to  their  various  necessities.  He  was 
eyes  to  the  blind,  and  feet  to  the  lame,  a  father 
to  the  poor,  a  refuge  to  the  stranger,  the  defender 
of  the  oppressed,  the  comforter  of  the  widow,  and 
the  protector  of  him  that  had  none  to  help  him. 
They  who  are  rich  in  this  world  ^  should  be  "  rich  in 
good  works,  ready  to  give,  glad  to  distribute." 

It  teaches  us  also,  in  all  our  afflictions,  to  be 
resigned  to  the  will  of  our  heavenly  Father,  and 
to  rely  upon  him  with  full  trust  and  confidence. 
"What!"  says  Job,  "shall  we  receive  good  at  the 
hand  of  God,  and  shall  we  not  receive  evil  ?  The 
Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away  :  blessed 
be  the  name  of  the  Lord." 


37 


Fhe   Works    of  Nature  praise    their 
Maker, 

Take  up  a  handful  of  sand,  and  try  to  number 
the  grains  of  it. 

Let  us  try  if  we  can  count  the  blades  of  grass  in 
die  field,  or  the  leaves  on  the  trees. 

We  cannot  count  them,  they  are  innumerable ; 
much  more  the  things  which  God  hath  made. 

The  fir  groweth  on  the  high  mountain,  and  the 
gray  willow  bends  above  the  stream. 

The  thistle  is  armed  with  short  prickles ;  the 
mallow  is  soft  and  woolly. 

The  hop  layeth  hold  with  her  tendrils,  and  clasp- 
eth  the  tall  pole :  the  oak  hath  firm  root  in  the 
ground,  tmd  resisteth  the  winter  storm. 

The  daisy  enamelleth  the  meadows,  and  grow- 
eth beneath  the  foot  of  the  passenger :  the  tulip 
asketh  a  rich  soil,  and  the  careful  hand  of  the 
gardener. 

The  iris  and  the  reed  spring  up  in  the  marsh: 
the  rich  grass  covereth  the  meadows  ;  and  the  pur- 
ple heath-flower  enliveneth  the  waste  ground. 

The  water-lilies  grow  beneath  the  stream ;  their 
broad  leaves  float  on  the  surface  of  the  water :  the 
wall-flower  takes  root  in  the  hard  stone,  and  spreads 
its  fragrance  amongst  broken  ruins. 

Every  leaf  is  of  a  different  form ;  every  plan'; 
hath  a  separate  inhabitant. 

Look  at  the  thorns  that  are  white  with  blossoms, 
and  the  flowers  that  cover  the  fields,  and  the  plants 
that  are  trodden  in  the  green  path.  The  hand  of 
man  hath  not  planted  them  ;  the  sower  hath  not 
scattered  the  seeds  from  his  hand,  nor  the  gardener 
digged  a  place  for  them  with  his  spade. 


Some  grow  on  steep  rocks,  where  no  man  can 
climb  ;  in  shaking  bogs,  and  deep  forests,  and 
desert  islands ;  they  spring  up  every  where,  and 
cover  the  bosom  of  the  whole  earth. 

Who  causeth  them  to  grow  every  where,  and 
bloweth  the  seeds  about  in  winds,  and  mixeth 
them  with  the  mould,  and  watereth  them  with  soft 
rains,  and  cherisheth  them  with  dews  ?  Who  fan- 
neth  them  with  the  pure  breath  of  Heaven ;  and 
giveth  them  colours  and  smells,  and  spreadeth  out 
their  thin  transparent  leaves  ? 

How  doth  the  rose  draw  its  crimson  from  the 
dark  brown  earth,  or  the  lily  its  shining  white  ? 
How  can  a  small  seed  contain  a  plant  ?  How  doth 
every  plant  know  its  season  to  put  forth?  The)' 
are  marshalled  in  order:  each  one  knoweth  his 
place,  and  standeth  up  in  his  own  rank. 

The  snow-drop,  and  the  primrose  haste  to  lift 
their  heads  above  the  ground;  when  the  spring 
comes,  they  put  forth  their  beauty.  The  carna- 
tion waiteth  for  the  full  strength  of  the  year ;  and 
the  hardy  laurustinus  chee^eth  the  winter  months. 

Every  plant  produceth  its  like.  An  ear  of  corn 
will  not  grow  from  an  acorn :  nor  will  a  grape- 
stone  produce  cherries :  but  every  one  springeth 
from  its  proper  seed. 

Who  preserveth  them  alive  through  the  cold  of 
winter,  when  the  snow  is  on  the  ground,  and  the 
sharp  frost  bites  on  the  plain  ?  Who  saveth  a  small 
seed,  and  a  little  warmth  in  the  bosom  of  the  earth, 
and  causeth  them  to  spring  up  afresh,  and  sap  to 
rise  through  the  hard  fibres? 

The  trees  are  withered,  naked,  and  bare ;  they 
are  like  dry  bones.  Who  breatheth  on  them  with 
the  breath  of  spring,  and  they  are  covered  with 


39 

verdure,  and  green  leaves  sprout  from  the  dead 
wood  ? 

Lo,  these  are  a  part  of  his  works,  and  a  Tittle 
portion  of  his  wonders. 

There  is  little  need  that  I  should  tell  you  of  God, 
for  every  thing  speaks  of  him. 

Evejy  field  is  like  an  open  book ;  every  painted 
flower  hath  a  lesson  written  upon  its  leaves. 

Every  murmuring  brook  hath  a  tongue :  a  voice 
is  in  every  whispering  wind. 

They  all  speak  of  him  who  made  them :  they  all 
tell  us  he  is  very  good. 

We  cannot  see  God,  for  he  k  invisible ;  but  we 
can  see  his  works  e\^ry  where. 

They  that  know  the  most,  should  praise  him 
the  best ;  but  which  of  us  can  number  half  his 
works  ? 


A  Character. 

"A  DOG,"  says  one  of  the  English  poets,  "is 
an  honest  creature,  and  I  am  a  friend  to  dogs." 

Of  all  the  beasts  that  graze  the  lawn  or  hunt  the 
forest,  a  dog  is  the  only  animal  that,  leaving  his 
fellows,  attempts  to  cultivate  the  friendship  of 
man. 

To  man  he  looks,  in  all  his  necessities,  with  a 
speaking  eye  for  assistance ;  exerts  for  him  all  the 
little  service  in  his  power  with  cheerfulness  and 
pleasure;  for  him  bears  famine  and  fatigue  with 
patience  and  resignation. 

No  injuries  can  abate  his  fidelity;  no  distress 
foduce  him  to  forsake  his  benefactor.     Studious 


40 

to  please,  and  fearing  to  offend,  he  is  still  an  hum- 
ble, steadfast  dependant ;  and  in  him  alone  fawn- 
ing is  not  flattery. 

By  him  the  midnight  robber  is  kept  at  a  dis- 
tance, and  the  thief  is  often  detected.  The  poor 
man  finds  in  his  dog  a  willing  assistant,  eager  to 
lessen  his  toil,  and  content  with  a  very  small  re- 
tribution. 

How  unkind,  then,  to  torture  this  faithful  crea- 
ture, who  has  left  the  forest  to  claim  the  protection 
of  man  !  How  ungrateful  a  return  to  the  trusty 
animal  for  all  its  services  ! 

Some  few  years  ago,  a  ship  was  launched '  at 
Ipswich,  in  Suffolk,  and  going  off  the  stocks  sooner 
than  was  expected  by  the  people  on  board,  several 
persons  were  thrown  into  the  water.  Some  boats 
were  quickly  employed  to  save  the  people,  though 
they  could  not  give  immediate  assistance. 

But  a  large  Newfoundland  dog,  seeing  their  situa- 
tion, rushed  into  the  water,  and  swimming  for  their 
relief,  towed  first  one  and  then  another  out  of  the 
deep  into  the  shallow  water,  and  by  this  means 
saved  the  lives  of  several  men  and  women,  though 
some  were  drowned  for  want  of  timely  assistance. 


To  avoid  Vice  the  best  way  to  escape 
Censure, 

It  is  wiser  to  prevent  a  quarrel  than  to  revenge 
it.  By  others'  faults,  prudent  men  correct  their 
own.  When  our  vices  leave  us.  we  flatter  our- 
selves that  we  leave  them.  Choose  that  kind  ot 
life  which  is  best,  and  custom  will  render  it  plea- 
sant. 


41 

Anger  may  glance  into  the  breast  of  a  wise  man : 
but  it  rests  only  in  the  bosom  of  fools.  To  err 
is  human ;  to  forgive,  divine.  Though  a  man  may 
become  learned  by  the  learning  of  other  people,  he 
can  never  be  wise  but  by  his  own  wisdom. 

A  good  man  will  love  himself  too  well  to  lose, 
and  all  his  neighbours  too  well  to  win,  an  estate 
by  gaming.  The  love  of  gaming  will  corrupt  the 
best  minds  in  the  world. 

It  happens  to  men  of  learning  as  to  ears  of  corn; 
they  shoot  up  and  raise  their  heads  high,  while  they 
are  empty ;  but  when  full  and  swelled  with  grain, 
they  begin  to  flag  and  droop. 

It  is  harder  to  avoid  censure,  than  to  gain  ap- 
plause ;  for  this  may  be  done  by  one  great  or  wise 
action  in  any  age  ;  but  to  escape  censure,  a  man 
must  pass  his  whole  life  without  saying  or  doing 
one  ill  or  foolish  thing.  A  liar  begins  with  making 
falsehood  appear  like  truth,  and  ends  with  making 
truth  itself  appear  like  falsehood.    •  ^  ^ 

It  often  happens,  that  those  are  the  best  people       1 
who  have,  been  most  hurt  by  slander :   as  we  some^ 
times  find  that  to  be  the  sweetest  fruit  at  which 
the  birds  have  been  picking. 


The  blessings  granted  to  us  by  God  in 
Winter^  and  to  which  we  pay  too  little 
attention. 

If  we  were  to  examine  the  works  of  creation 
more  attentively  than  we  generally  do,  we  should 
find  at  this  season,  many  reasons  to  rejoice  in  the 
Creator,  and  to  praise  the  wonders  of  his  wisdom. 


42 

Pew,  without  doubt,  are  so  insensible  as  not  to 
feel  emotions  of  pleasure  and  gratitude,  when  beau- 
teous nature  displays  the  rich  blessings  of  Pro- 
vidence, in  spring,  in  summer,  or  autumn. 

But  even  hearts  the  fullest  of  sensibility,  if  they 
are  not  found  watching  unto  prayer,  will  be  very 
liable  to  lose  that  sensation  of  warm  gratitude,  when 
they  see  the  trees  stripped  of  their  fruit,  and  the 
fields  without  verdure ;  when  the  bleak  wind  whis- 
tles round  their  dwelling;  when  a  chilling  cold 
comes  to  freeze  the  earth  and  its  inhabitants. 

But  is  it  true  that  this  season  iS  so  deprived  of 
the  blessings  of  Heaven,  and  of  what  is  sufficient 
to  kindle  gratitude  and  piety  in  the  heart  of  man  ? 
No,  certainly.  Let  us  only  accustom  ourselves  to 
be  more  attentive  to  the  works  of  God,  more  touch- 
ed vvith  the  many  proofs  of  his  goodness  towards 
us,  and  we  shall  find  opportunities  enough,  even  in 
winter,  to  praisQ  our  benefactor. 

Consider  how  unhappy  we  should  be,  if,  during 
violent  cold,  we  had  neither  wood  for.  fire,  nor 
clothes  to  keep  us  warm.  With  what  goodness 
the  Lord  prevents  ourTvants,  and  furnishes  us  (even 
in  the  season  the  most  void  of  resources)  with  the 
necessaries  and  conveniences  of  lile. 

When  at  this  moment  we  may  be  enjo3^ing  the 
comfortable  warmth  of  a  fire,  shall  we  not  return 
thanks  to  the  Lord,  who  giveth  us  fuel  with  such 
profusion,  that  the  very  poorest  can  be  supplied 
with  it?  . 

If  it  were  given  to  mortals  to  know  the  chain 
of  every  thing  in  nature,  how  great  would  be  our 
admiration  at  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  its  au- 
thor !  But  however  incapable  we  are  of  forming 
to  ourselves  an  idea  of  the  whole  of  his  works,  the 


43 

Kttle  we  understand,  gives  us  sufficient  reason  to 
acknowledge,  that  his  government  is  infinitely  wise 
and  beneficent. 

Winter  belongs  to  the  plan  he  has  formed.  If 
this  season  did  not  exist,  the  spring  and  summer 
would  not  have  so  many  charms  for  us  ;  the  fertility 
of  our  lands  would  much  diminish ;  commerce 
would  be  at  an  end  in  many  provinces,  and  part 
of  the  woods  and  forests  would  have  been  created 
for  no  purpose. 

Considered  in  this  light,  winter  is  certainly  very 
uf?eful,  and  supposing  that  even  its  advantages  were 
not  so  apparent,  it  would  be  sufficient  for  us  to  re- 
flect, that  winter  is  the  work  of  the  Creator  as  well 
as  spring  and  summer,  and  all  that  which  comes 
from  him  must  be  for  the  best. 


Industry, 


The  Jews  have  a  saying  among  them,  that "  He 
who  does  not  bring  his  son  up  to  some  business, 
makes  him  a  thief."  Idleness  they  look  on  as  the 
ground  of  all  evil,  whether  public  or  private ;  for, 
the  mind  of  man  will  be  employed,  and  rather  than 
do  nothing,  it  will  work  mischief. 

The  Parthians  were  such  enemies  to  idleness,  that 
they  did  not  suflTer  their  children  to  eat  till  they  had 
gone  through  some  exercises,  or  done  something 
which  might  contribute  to  the  health  of  their  bodies 
or  improvement  of  their  minds. 


44 

Solon  introduced  a  severe  law  into  his  common- 
wealth agai'iSt  idleness,  and  the  judges  were  very 
vigilant  in  mquiring  into  the  life  and  manner  of 
every  particular  subject,  and  in  seeing  this  law 
put  in  execution,  as  appears  from  the  following 
narrative. 

"  There  were  at  Athens  two  poor  young  men, 
who  took  pleasure  in  reading,  in  order  to  acquire 
wisdom  and  knowledge.  They  had  no  visible 
means  of  support,  yet  they  kept  up  their  flesh  and 
colour,  looked  hale,  well,  and  in  good  case. 

"  The  judges  had  information  given  them  of  the 
retired  life  of  these  two,  and  that  it  did  not  appear 
they  had  any  thing  to  maintain  them :  consequent- 
ly, as  they  could  not  hve  without  sustenance,  they 
must  have  some  clandestine  means  of  subsisting. 
On  this  information,  the  young  men  were  sum- 
moned before  the  judges,  and  ordered  to  answer  to 
the  charge. 

"  One  of  the  accused  said,  that  little  credit  was 
given  to  what  a  man  could  urge  in  his  own  defence, 
because  it  was  natural  to  think  that  every  criminal, 
would  either  deny  or  extenuate  the  crime  he  was 
charged  with ;  and  as  the  testimony  of  a  disinterest- 
ed person  was  not  liable  to  suspicion,  he  desired  a 
certain  baker,  whom  he  named,  might  be  summon- 
ed, in  order  to  answer  for  them. 

"  The  baker  declared,  that  the  young  men  under 
examination  took  it  by  turns  to  grind  his  corn  every 
night;  and  that,  for  the  night's  work,  he  every 
morning  paid  the  young  man  who  ground  at  his 
mill,  a  drachma,  or  groat.  The  judges,  surprised 
at  their  abstinence  and  industry,  ordered  a  reward 
of  two  hundred  drachmas  to  be  paid  them  out  of 
the  public  treasury." 


45 

How  happy  would  it  be  for  us,  if  there  were 
laws  against  idleness,  and  which  should  oblige 
every  man  to  give  an  account  of  his  time,  and  be 
answerable  for  his  way  of  life !  How  many  cheats 
and  sharpers,  who  live  by  defrauding  the  unwary 
public,  would  be  obliged  to  lay  aside  the  name  of 
gentleman,  and  work  for  their  hvelihood  in  an 
honest  manner  1 


Modesty, 

Who  art  thou,  O  man !  that  presumest  on  thme 
own  wisdom  ?  or  why  dost  thou  vaunt  thyself  on 
thine  own  acquirements  ? 

The  first  step  towards  being  wise,  is  to  know 
that  thou  art  ignorant :  and  if  thou  wouldst  not  be 
esteemed  foolish  in  the  judgment  of  others,  cast 
off  the  folly  of  being  wise  in  thine  own  conceit. 

As  a  plain  garment  best  adorneth  a  beautiful 
woman,  so  a  decent  behaviour  is  the  greatest 
ornament  of  wisdom. 

The  speech  of  a  modest  man  giveth  lustre  to 
truth,  and  the  diffidence  of  his  words  absolveth 
his  error. 

He  relioth  not  on  his  own  wisdom ;  he  weigheth 
the  counsels  of  a  friend,  and  receiveth  the  benefit 
thereof. 

He  turneth  away  his  ear  from  his  own  praise, 
and  believeth  it  not ;  he  is  the  last  in  discovering 
his  own  perfections. 

Yet  as  a  veil  addeth  to  beauty,  so  are  his  vir- 
tues set  off  by  the  shade  which  his  modesty  castetii 
upon  thera. 


46 

But  behold  the  vain  man,  and  observe  the  arro- 
gant :  he  clotheth  himself  in  rich  attire  ;  he  walk- 
eth  in  the  public  street ;  he  casteth  round  his  eyes 
and  courteth  observation. 

He  tosseth  up  his  head,  and  overlooketh  the 
poor;  he  treateth  his  inferiors  with  insolence,  and 
his  superiors,  in  return,  look  down  on  his  pride  and 
folly  with  laughter. 

He  despiseth  the  judgment  of  others ;  he  relieth 
on  his  own  opinion,  and  is  confounded. 

He  is  puffed  up  with  the  vanity  of  his  imagina- 
tion ;  his  delight  is  to  hear  and  speak  of  himself  all 
the  day  long. 

He  swalloweth  with  greediness  his  own  praise, 
and  the  flatterer,  in  return,  eateth  him  up. 


Vegetables  which  preserve  their  Verdure 
in  Winter. 

The  earth  may  now  be  compared  to  a  mother 
who  has  been  robbed  of  those  children  from  whom 
she  had  the  best  hopes.  She  is  desolate,  and  de- 
prived of  the  charms  which  varied  and  embellished 
her  surface.  However,  she  is  not  robbed  of  all  her 
children. 

Here  and  there  some  vegetables  are  still  to  be 
seen,  which  seem  to  defy  the  severity  of  the  win- 
ter. Here  the  wild  hawthorn  shows  its  purple 
berries ;  and  the  laurustinus  displays  its  blossoms 
in  clusters  crowned  with  leaves  which  never  fade. 

The  yew-tree  rises  like  a  pyramid,  and  its 
leaves    pieserve    their   verdure.    The    weak    ivy 


47 

still  creeps  along  the  walls,  and  clings  immoveable, 
•  while   the  tempest  roars  around   it.     The  laurel 
extends  its  green  branches,  and  has  lost  none  of 
ts  summer  ornaments. 

The  humble  box  shows,  here  and  there,  m  the 
midst,  of  the  snow,  its  evergreen  branches.  These 
trees,  and  some  others,  preserve  their  verdure 
in  the  coldest  climates,  and  in  the  severest  sea- 
sons. 

They  are  emblems  of  the  durable  advantages 
which  he  possesses,  whose  mind  is  cultivated,  and 
whose  temper  is  sweet  and  serene.  The  splen 
dour  of  dress,  which  only  dazzles  the  eye  of  the 
vulgar,  is  a  trifling  and  transient  splendour. 

The  most  brilliant  complexion  will  fade,  and  all 
outward  beauty  is  of  short  duration:  but  virtue 
nas  charms  which  survive  every  thing.  The  man 
who  fears  the  Lord,  "is  like  a  tree  planted  by  the 
iide  of  a  rivulet." 

"  It  grows  and  flourishes,  and  its  branches  ex- 
tend far  off*.  It  bears  fruit  in  due  season,  and  its 
leaves  fade  not.  It  refreshes  him  who  seeks  its 
shelter,  and  the  traveller  blesses  it." 

What  a  delightful  image  is  this  of  a  pious  man  I 
He  borrows  not  his  value  from  the  exterior  and 
arbitrary  goods  of  fortune.  His  true  ornaments 
are  in  himself.  The  storms  of  adversity  may 
sometimes  shake  him,  but  they  cannot  overpower 
him";  and  he  eoon  rises  again  above  the  stormy 
regions. 

If  he  is  reduced  by  misfortune  to  poverty,  he  is 
still  rich  in  the  possession  of  peace,  arising  from 
a  good  conscience,  and  the  hope  of  a  blessed  im- 
mortality. 

This  meditation  leads  me  to  the  idea  of  a  be- 
nevolent old  man.     In  the  decline  of  his  days,  he 
5 


48 

resembles  the  plants  which  preserve  their  verdure, 
even  in  that  season  of  life.  How  many  storms  of 
fortune  has  he  supported  with  constancy !  How 
many  attracting  objects  has  he  seen  wither!  He 
yet  exists,  whilst  most  of  those  of  his  time  have 
disappeared. 

A  mild  cheerfulness  is  seen  in  him,  the  happy 
remains  of  his  spring.  However  wrinkled  his 
forehead  may  be,  whatever  ravages  the  hand  of 
time  has  imprinted  upon  his  body,  he  is  still 
adorned  with  virtues  which  make  amends  for  the 
loss  of  exterior  charms. 

He  grows  young  again  in  his  children ;  and  his 
wisdom,  his  integrity,  his  great  experience,  serve 
still  for  examples  and  lessons  to  all  around  him. 

As  the  rose  breatheth  sweetness  from  its  nature, 
so  the  heart  of  a  benevolent  man  produceth  good 
works.  He  enjoyeth  the  ease  and  tranquillity  of 
his  own  breast,  and  rejoiceth  in  the  happiness  and 
prosperity  of  his  neighbour. 

His  desire  is  to  do  good,  and  he  searcheth  out 
the  occasions  thereof;  in  removing  the  oppressions 
of  another,  he  relieveth  himself.  From  the  large- 
ness of  his  mind,  he  comprehendeth  in  his  wishes 
the  happiness  of  all  men ;  and  from  the  generosity 
of  his  heart,  he  endeavoureth  to  promote  it 


49 


Anger, 


As  the  whirlwind  in  its  fury  teareth  up  trees 
and  changeth  the  face  of  Nature,  so  the  rage  of 
an  angry  man  throweth  mischief  around  him.  But 
think  and  reflect  on  thine  own  weakness ;  so  shalt 
thou  pardon  the  faihngs  of  others.  Indulge  not 
thyself  in  anger;  it  is  like  whetting  a  sword  to 
wound  thine  own  breast,  or  to  injure  thy  friend. 

If  it  be  a  hard  task  to  rule  thine  anger,  it  is  wise 
to  prevent  it :  avoid  then  those  things  whicli  may 
excite  thy  wrath,  or  guard  thyself  against  them, 
when  they  occur.  Harbour  not  revenge  in  thy 
breast :  it  will  torment  thy  heart,  and  pervert  thy 
best  thoughts. 

Be  always  more  ready  to  forgive  than  to  return 
an  offence :  he  that  watches  for  revenge,  lieth  in 
wait  against  himself,  and  draweth  down  mischief 
on  his  own  head.  A  mild  answer  to  an  angry 
man,  like  water  cast  upon  the  fire,  checketh  his 
warmth,  and  from  being  a  foe,  he  will  become  thy 
friend. 

Reflect  and  think  how  few  things  are  worthy  of 
anger,  and  thou  wilt  wonder  that  any  but  fools 
should  indulge  in  it.  In  folly  or  weakness  it  always 
taketh  its  rise ;  but  seldom  endeth  without  sorrow 
On  the  heels  of  folly  treadeth  shame ;  at  the  back 
of  anger  standeth  remorse. 


ilr: 


50 


Filial  Piety. 


One  of  the  Roman  judges  had  given  up  to  the 
triumvir  a  woman  of  some  rank,  condemned  for  a 
capital  crime,  to  be  executed  in  prison.  He  who 
had  charge  of  the  execution,  in  consideration  of 
her  birth,  did  not  immediately  put  her  to  death. 

He  even  ventured  to  let  her  daughter  have  ac« 
cess  to  her  in  prison,  carefully  searching  her,  how 
ever,  as  she  went  in,  lest  she  should  carry  with  he; 
any  sustenance. 

He  took  it  for  granted,  that  in  a  few  days  the 
mother  must,  of  course,  perish  for  want,  and  that 
the  severity  of  putting  a  woman  of  family  to  a  vio- 
lent death,  by  the  hand  of  the  executioner,  might 
thus  be  avoided. 

Some  days  passing  in  this  manner,  the  triumvir 
began  to  wonder  that  the  daughter  still  came  to 
visit  her  mother,  and  could  by  no  means  compre- 
hend how  the  latter  should  live  so  long.     ' 

Watching,  therefore,  carefully  what  passed  in 
the  interview  between  them,  he  found,  to  his  great 
astonishment,  that  the  life  of  the  mother  had  been 
all  this  while  supported  by  the  milk  of  her  daugh- 
ter, who  came  to  the  prison  every  day  for  this 
purpose. 

The  strange^  contrivance  between  them  was  re- 
presented to  the  judges,  who  procured  a  pardon 
for  the  mother.  Nor  was  it  thought  sufficient  to 
give  to  so  dutiful  a  daughter  the  forfeited  hfe  ot 
her  condemned  mother,  but  they  were  both  main- 
tained afterwards  by  a  pension  settled  on  them 
for  life. 


51 

What  will  not  filial  duty  contrive,  or  what  haz- 
ards will  it  not  run,  if  it  will  put  a  daughter  upon 
venturing,  at  the  peril  of  her  own  life,  to  maintain 
her  imprisoned  and  condemned  mother  in  so  unu- 
sual a  manner ! 


The  first  Lesson  of  Cyrus, 


It  is  reported  of  Cyrus,  when  young,  that  being 
asked  what  was  the  first  thing  he  learned,  he  an- 
swered, "  To  tell  the  Truth ;"  which  is,  indeed, 
"  though  no  science,  fairly  worth  the  seven." 

When  the  wise  men  were  commanded  by  the 
king  to  declare  what  .was  the  strongest  power 
upon  earth,  such  as  exceeded  even  that  of  the 
monarch  himself,  they  were  all  at  a  loss  for  an  an- 
swer. 

At  last,  the  prophet  Daniel  was  consulted,  who, 
being  endowed  with  wisdom  from  on  high,  answer- 
ed, that  Truth  was  the  stjongest  5  and  supported 
his  assertions  by  such  weighty  arguments,  that  no- 
body could  controvert  them.  Thus  his  under- 
standing was  approved  by  the  king,  and  all  the 
sages  were  humbled  in  his  presence. 

Of  all  the  qualities  that  adorn  the  human  mind, 
truth  is  the  most  respectable.  It  is  a  rich,  though 
a  simple  ornament ;  and  he  who  is  not  possessed 
of  it,  let  his  rank  and  qualities  be  what  they  may, 
will  be  forever  despicable  in  the  sight  of  the  good 
and  wise. 


5-2 

We  are  naturally  led  to  dislike  those  who  are 
always  intent  upon  deceiving.  Whereas,  on  the 
contrary,  we  make  no  scruple  to  confide  in  those 
who  are  sincere,  because  we  know  ourselves  to  be 
safe  in  their  hands.  They  will^  be  either  constant 
friends  or  open  enemies ;  and  even  if,  through  hu- 
man frailty,  they  are  sometimes  led  into  errors,  yet 
their  generous  acknowledgment  of  them  makes 
amends  in  a  great  degree,  and  is  a  good  token  ot 
their  avoiding  them  for  the  future. 

"  Where  Truth  is  found,  bright  Virtue  still  resides, 

And  equal  justice  every  action  guides. 

In  the  pure  heart  and  spotless  mind  she  reigns, 

And  with  mild  power  her  happy  sway  maintains  ; 

The  attribute  of  God  himself  confess'd, 

That  stamps  his  image  on  the  human  breast." 


The  Laplanders, 


If  I  fix  rriy  eyes  on  the  Laplanders,  and  the  in 
habitants  of  the  lands  nearest  the  arctic  pole,  I  be- 
hold mortals  whose  state  and  manner  of  Hving, 
when  compared  with  ours,  we  conclude  are  not 
the  happiest.  Their  country  is  formed  of  a  chain 
of  mountains,  covered  with  snow  and  ice,  which 
do  not  melt  even  in  summer;  and  where  the  chain 
is  interrupted,  it  is  full  of  bogs  and  marshes. 

A  deep  snow  overwhelms  the  valleys,  and  co- 
vers the  little  hills.     Winter  is  felt  during  the  great- 


53 

est  part  of  the  year.  The  nights  are  long  ;  jind 
the  days  give  but  a  dim  light.  The  inhabitants 
seek  shelter  from  the  cold  in  tents  which  can  be 
removed  from  one  place  to  another. 

They  fix  their  fireplace  in  the  middle  of  the  tent, 
and  surround  it  with  stones.  The  smoke  goes  out 
at  the  top,  which  also  serves  them  for  a  window. 
There  they  fasten  iron  chains,  to  which  they  hang 
the  caldrons,  in  which  they  dress  their  food,  and 
melt  the  ice  that  serves  them  for  drink. 

The  hiside  of  the  tent  is  furnished  with  furs, 
which  preserve  them  from  the  wind  ;  and  they  lie 
on  skins  spread  on  the  ground.  It  is  there  they 
pass  their  winter.  Six  months  of  the  year  are  to 
them  perpetual  night;  during  which,  they  hear 
nothing  round  them  but  the  whistling  of  winds,  and 
the  howling  of  wolves,  that  are  running  every 
where  in  search  of  their  prey. 

How  could  we  bear  the  climate  and  way  of  life 
of  those  people?  How  much  should  we  think 
ourselves  to  be  pitied,  if  we  had  nothing  before 
our  eyes  but  an  immense  extent  of  ice,  and  whole 
deserts  covered  with  snow;  the  absence  of  the 
sun  still  making  the  cold  more  insupportable?  If, 
instead  of  a  convenient  dwelling,  we  had  only 
moveable  tents  made  of  skins,  and  no  resource  for 
our  subsistence,  but  painful  and  dangerous  hunt- 
ing! . 

Are  not  these  reflections  proper  to  make  us  ob- 
serve the  many  advantages  of  our  climate,  so  lit- 
tle attended  to  ?  Ought  they  not  to  animate  us  to 
bless  the  Divine  Providence,  for  delivering  us  from 
such  distresses  and  inconveniences,  and  for  dis- 
tinguishing u«  by  a  thousand  advantages?  Yes. 

Let  us  ever  bless  that  wise  Providence:  and 
when  wft  feel  tlie  Reverity  of  the  season,  let  us  re- 


^t^ 


54 

turn  thanks,  that  the  cold  is  so  moderate  where 
we  dwell,  and  that  we  have  such  numerous  ways 
of  guarding  against  it. 

But  is  the  inhabitant  of  northern  countries  so 
unhappy  as  we  imagine?  It  is  true,  he  wanders 
through  rough  valleys  and  unbeaten  roads,  and  is 
exposed  to  the  inclemency  of  the  seasons.  But 
his  hardy  body  is  able  to  bear  fatigue. 

The  Laplander  is  poor,  and  deprived  of  many 
of  the  conveniences  of  life  ;  but  is  he  not  rich,  in 
knowing  no  other  wants  than  those  which  he  can 
easily  satisfy  ?  He  is  deprived  for  several  months 
of  the  light  of  the  sun ;  but  to  make  the  darkness 
supportable,  the  moon  and  the  Aurora  Borealis 
light  his  horizon. 

Even  the  snow  and  ice  in  which  he  is  buried, 
do  not  make  him  unhappy.  Education  and  cus 
tom  arm  him  against  the  severity  of  his  climate 
The  hardy  life  he  leads  enables  him  to  brave  the 
cold ;  and  for  the  particular  wants  which  are  indis- 
pensable to  him,  nature  has  made  it  easy  to  obtain 
supplies. 

She  has  pointed  out  to  him  animals,  whose  fur 
saves  him  from  the  sharpness  of  the  air.  She 
has  given  him  the  Rein-deer,  which  furnishes  him 
with  his  tent,  his  dress,  his  bed,  his  food,  and  his 
drink ;  with  which  he  undertakes  long  journeys, 
and  which,  in  a  word,  supplies  almost  all  his  wants ; 
and  the  maintenance  of  it  is  but  little  trouble  to 
him. 


55 


Application, 


SiN(i5  the  days  that  are  past  are  gone  forever, 
and  those  that  are  to  come  may  not  come  to  thee, 
it  behoveth  thee,  O  man  !  to  employ  the  present 
t'me,  without  regretting  the  loss  of  that  which  is 
past,  or  too  much  depending  on  that  which  is  to 
come. 

This  .instant  is  thine :  the  next  is  in  the  womb 
of  futurity,  and  thou  knowest  not  what  it  may 
Iring  forth. 

Whatsoever  thou  resolvest  to  do,  do  it  quickly. 
Defer  not  till  the  evening  what  the  morning  may 
accomplish.  -^ 

Idleness  is  the  parent  of  want  and  of  pain ;  but 
the  labour  of  virtue  bringeth  forth  pleasure. 

The  hand  of  diligence  defeateth  want ;  pros- 
perity and  success  are  the  industrious  man's  at- 
tendants. 

Who  is  he  that  hath  acquired  wealth,  that  hath 
risen  to  power,  that  hath  clothed  himself  with 
/lonour,  and  that  is  spoken  of  in  the  city  with 
praise?  Even  he  that  hath  shut  out  idleness  from 
lis  house,  and  hath  said  unto  sloth,  thou  art  mine 
enemy. 

He  riseth  up  early,  he  exerciseth  his  mmd  with 
contemplation,  and  his  body  with  action,  and  pre- 
serveth  the  health  of  both. 


5B 

The  slothful  man  is  a  burden  to  himself;  his 
hours  hang  heavy  on  his  head ;  he  loiters  about, 
and  knoweth  not  what  he  would  do. 

His  days  pass  away  like  the  shadow  of  a  cloud, 
and  he  leaveth  behind  him  no  mark  for  remem- 
brance. 

His  body  is  diseased  for  want  of  exercise ;  he 
wisheth  for  action,  but  hath  not  power  to  move ; 
his  mind  is  in  darkness;  his  thoughts  are  con- 
fused ;  he  longeth  for  knowledge,  but  hath  no  ap- 
plication. 

He  would  eat  of  the  almond,  but  hateth  the 
trouble  of  breaking  the  shell. 

His  house  is  in  disorder,  his  servants  are  waste- 
hil  and  riotous,  and  he  runneth  on  towards  ruin: 
he  seeth  it  with  his  eyes,  he  heareth  it  with  hi» 
ears,  he  shaketh  his  head,  and  wisheth,  but  hath 
no  resolution  ;  till  ruin  comes  upon  him  hke  a  whirl 
wind,  and  shame  and  repentance  descend  with  hini 
to  the  grave.  I 


Exercise  and  Temperance, 


Physic,  for  the  most  part,  is  nothing  else  but 
the  substitute  for  exercise  or  temperance.  Medi. 
cines  are,  indeed,  absolutely  necessary  in  acute 
distempirs,  which  cannot  wait  the  slow  operations 
of  these  two  great  instruments  of  health  ;  but,  did 
men  live  in   a  habitual  course   of  exercise   and 


b7 

temperance,  there  would  be  but  little  occasion  for 
them. 

Accordingly,  we  find  that  those  parts  of  the  world 
are  the  most  healthy,  where  they  subsist  by  the 
chase ;  and  that  men  lived  longest,  when  their  lives 
were  employed  in  hunting,  and  when  they  had  litde 
food  besides  what  they  caught. 

Blistering  and  bleeding  would  be  less  frequently 
necessary,  were  it  not  for  idleness  and  intemperance : 
and  all  those  inward  applications,  which  are  so 
much  in  practice  among  us,  are,  for  the  most  part, 
nothing  else  but  expedients  to  make  luxury  consis- 
tent with  health.  The  apothecary  is  perpetually 
employed  in  countermining  the  cook  and  the 
vintner. 

It  is  said  of  Diogenes,  that  meeting  a  young  man 
who  was  going  to  a  feast,  he  took  him  up  in  the 
street  and  carried  him  home  to  his  friends,  as  one 
who  was  running  into  imminent  danger,  had  he  not 
prevented  him. 

What  would  the  philosopher  have  said,  had  he 
been  present  at  the  gluttony  of  a  modern  meal  ? 
Would  not  he  have  thought  the  master  of  the 
family  mad,  and  have  begged  the  servants  to  tie 
down  his  hands,  had  he  seen. him  devour  fowl,  fish, 
and  flesh;  swallow  oil  and  vinegar,  wines  and 
spices ;  throw  down  sallads  of  twenty  diflferent  sorts 
of  herbs;  sauces  of  a  hundred  ingredients;  confec- 
tions and  fruits  of  numberless  sweets  and  flavours  ? 

For  my  part,  when  I  behold  a  fashionable  table 
set  out  in  all  its  munificence,  I  fancy  that  I  see 
gouts  and  dropsies,  fevers  and  lethargies,  with  other 
innumerable  distempers,  lying  in  ambuscade  among 
the  dishes. 

Nature  delights  in  the  most  plain  and  simple 
diet.    Every  animal  but  man  keeps  to  one  dish. 


^8 

Herbs  are  the  food  of  this  species,  fish,  of  that, 
and  flesh,  of  a  third.  But  man  falls  upon  every 
thing  that  comes  in  his  way;  scarce  a  berry  or 
mushroom  can  escape  him. 

It  is  impossible  to  lay  down  a  determinate  rule 
for  intemperance,  because,  what  is  luxuiy  in  one 
may  be  temperance  in  another.  An  eminent 
physician  gives  the  following  advice :  "  make  your 
whole  repast  of  one  dish,  and  seldom  indulge  in  a 
second." 

It  is  observed  by  two  or  three  ancient  authors, 
that  Socrates,  notwithstanding  he  lived  in  Athens, 
during  the  great  plague  which  has  made  so  much 
noise  through  all  ages,  and  has  been  celebrated, 
at  different  times,  by  the  most  eminent  authors ;  I 
say,  notwithstanding  he  lived  in  the  time  of  this 
most  devouring  pestilence,  he  never  caught  the 
infection ;  which  those  writers  unanimously  as- 
cribe to  the  uninterrupted  temperance  which  he 
always  observed. 

But  the  most  remarkable  instance  of  the  effica- 
cy of  temperance  in  procuring  long  life,  is  what  we 
meet  with  in  a  httle  book  published  by  Lewis 
Cornaro,  the  Venitian ;  which  I  mention  because 
it  is  of  undoubted  firedit,  as  the  late  Venitian 
ambassador,  who  was  of  the  same  family,  attested 
more  than  once,  i-n  conversation,  when  he  resided 
in  England. 

Cornaro,  who  was  the  author  of  the  little  trea- 
tise above  mentioned,  was  of  an  infirm  constitu- 
tion till  about  forty,  when,  by  obstinately  persist- 
ing in  an  exact  course  of  temperance,  he  recover- 
ed a  perfect  state  of  health  ;  insomuch,  that  at 
fourscore  he  published  his  book,  which  has  been 
translated  into  English,  under  the  title  of  "  Sure 
and  certaiTi  methods  of  obtaining  a  long  and 
healthy  life." 


59 

He  lived  to  give  a  third  or  fourth  edition  of  it ; 
and,  after  having  passed  his  hundredth  year,  died 
without  pain  or  agony,  and  like  one  who  falls 
asleep. 


The  fear  of  Spectres, 


The  long  winter  nights  are  the  occasion  of  ter-  ^ 
tor  and  uneasiness  to  a  number  of  people,  because 
they  are  tormented  vidth  the  ridiculous  apprehen- 
sion of  spectres.  _  This  superstitious  fear  was  more 
pardonable  in  the  time  of  our  ancestors,  as  they 
had  not  such  clear  ideas  of  the  nature  of  spirits, 
and  as  it  was  then  favoured  by  several  professedly 
religious. 

But  there  is  reason  to  be  surprised  that  such 
ideas  and  such  fears  can  exist  now.  It  shows  how 
ingenious  man  is  to  raise  imaginary  monsters,  and 
to  torment  himself  It  is  not  enough  that  he 
should  from  time  to  time  feel  real  evils :  he  can 
also  create  to  himself  fancied  evils,  and  become 
unhappy,  because  he  thinks  himself  so. 

How  is  a  miser  tormented  with  the  fear  of  rob- 
bers !  the  misanthrope,  from  the  distrust  of  those 
about  him  !  the  discontented  man,  from  his  anxiety 
of  what  may  happen !  Let  us  learn  from  hence, 
to  know  the  nature  of  the  human  heart,  and  to 
feel  the  necessity  of  watching  over  our  imagina- 
tion. 

If  it  deceive  us  in  the  night,  by  representing  to 
us  frightful  phantoms,  it  often  in  the  day-time  p'-o- 
duces   illusions,  by  painting  vice  to  us  under  at- 
6 


60 

tractive  forms.  Let  us  be  as  ready  to  avoid  all 
tempations  to  evil,  as  we  are  to  fly  from  the  ap- 
parition of  a  spectre  ;  but  in  the  former  instance, 
man  is  bold  and  rash,  and  in  the  latter,  timid  and 
fearftil. 

The  fear  of  a  single  ghost  makes  some  shudder, 
while  the  certainty  of  being  one  day  transported 
into  a  world  of  incorporeal  beings,  makes  but  little 
impression  on  many  minds.  Still  more,  though 
we  know  that  every  step  draws  us  nearer  the  pre- 
sence of  the  Eternal  and  Infinite  Spirit,  we  feel 
little  apprehensions  about  it. 

*  If  death  or  a  dead  person  were  to  appear  to  us 
at  midnight,  and  declare  to  us  that  we  should  soon 
join  him,  the  most  intrepid  man  would  be  filled 
with  fright  and  terror :  he  would  make  serious  re- 
flections upon  the  event,  and  would  wait  the  issue 
with  anxiety. 

But  why  are  we  so  inattentive  to  the  voice  of 
God,  which  cries  aloud,  "Prepare,  O  Israel,  to 
meet  thy  God?"  How  inconsistent  to  rest  in  se- 
curity, when  it  would  be  prudent  to  fear : — and  to 
tremble,  when  there  is  nothing  to  dread. 


Useful  Information. 


In  a  late  conversation  among  some  of  the  great 
and  wise,  Therbn,  a  man  of  wealth  and  figure,  but 
not  possessed  of  much  knowledge,  sat  in  the  midst 
of  his  friends  of  both  sexes,  in  a  large  room,  with 
a  rich  variety  of  furniture. 

Theron  observed,  that  he  had  often  heard  it  said, 
"  how  much  we  are  all  indebted  to  the  country  and 


G\ 

the  plough  ;'*  but  for  his  part,  he  knew  no  obliga- 
tion that  we  had  to  that  low  rank  of  mankind, 
whose  life  is  taken  up  in  the  fields,  the  woods,  and 
the  meadows,  but  that  they  paid  their  rents  well, 
to  enable  gentlemen  to  live  at  their  ease. 

Crito  was  pleased  to  seize  the  occasion,  and  en- 
tertained the  gay  audience  with  a  surprising  lecture 
of  philosophy. 

"  Permit  me,  Theron,''  said  he,  "  to  be  an  ad- 
vocate for  the  peasant ;  and  I  can  draw  up  a  long 
account  of  particulars,  for  which  we  are  indebted 
to  the  field  and  the  forest,  and  to  the  men  who 
cultivate  the  ground,  and  are  engaged  in  rural 
business. 

"Look  around  on  all  the  furniture  of  the  room; 
let  us  survey  our  own  clothing,  and  the  splendid 
array  of  Therina  and  Persis;  and  we  shall  find, 
that,  except  a  few  glittering  stones,  and  a  little 
gold  and  silver,  which  were  dug  out  of  the  bowels 
of  the  earth,  we  can  scarce  see  any  thing  that  did 
not  once  grow  green  upon  the  ground  through  the 
various  labours  of  the  planter  and  the  ploughman. 

"  Whence  came  the  floor  we  tread  on,  part 
whereof  is  inlaid  with  wood  of  different  colours  ? 
Whence  these  fair  pannels  of  wainscot,  and  the 
cornice  that  encompasses  and  adorns  the  room  ? 
Whence  this  lofty  room  of  cedar,  and  the  carved 
ornaments  of  it?  Are  they  not  all  the  spoils  of  the 
trees  of  the  forest? 

"  Were  not  these  once  the  verdant  standard  of 
the  grove  or  the  mountain  ?  What  are  the  hang- 
ings of  gay  tapestry  ?  Are  they  not  owing  to  the 
fleece  of  the  sheep,  which  borrowed  their  nourish-, 
ment  from  the  grass  of  the  meadows  ? 

"  Thus,  the  finery  of  a  parlour  was  once  grass : 
ftjid  should  I  take  a  turn  into  the  bed-chamber, 


^^ 


62 

[  coulcl  show  that  the  curtains,  and  the  linen,  and 
costly  covering,  where  we  take  our  nightly  repose, 
wore  some  years  ago  all  growing  in  the  fields. 

"  But  I  need  not  retire  from  the  place  where 
we  are  seated,  to  give  abundant  discoveries  ol 
this  truth.  Is  not  the  hair  of  camels  a  part  of  the 
materials  which  compose  those  rich  curtains  that 
hang  down  by  the  windows,  and  the  easy  chairs 
which  accommodate  our  friends?  And,  if  we 
think  a  little,  we  shall  find  that  camels  with  their 
hair  were  made  of  grass,  as  well  as  sheep  with  theii 
wool. 

"  What  are  the  books  that  lie  in  the  window,  and 
the  little  implements  of  paper  and  wax,  pens  and 
wafers,  which,  I  presume,  may  be  found  in  the  es- 
3ritoir?  They  have  all  the  same  original,  they  were 
once  mere  vegetables. 

"  Paper  and  books  owe  their  being  to  the  tatters 
of  linen,  which  were  woven  of  the  threads  of  fiax 
or  hemp.  The  pasteboard  covers  are  composed  ~ 
of  paper,  and  the  leather  is  the  skin  of  the  calf, 
which  drew  its  life  and  sustenance  from  the  mea- 
dows. 

"  The  pen  that  we  write  with  was  plucked  from 
the  wing  of  a  goose,  which  lived  upon  the  grass  of 
the  common.  The  wafer  is  made  of  the  paste  of 
wheat,  and  the  wax  is  originally  plundered  from  the 
bee,  who  gathered  it  out  of  a  thousand  flowers. 

"  Permit  me,  -ladies,"  said  the  philosopher,  "  to 
mention  your  dress.  Who  gave  Persis  the  silken 
habit  which  she  wears?  Did  she  not  borrow  it 
from  the  worm  that  spun  those  shining  threads  ? 
And  whence  did  the  worm  borrow  it?  From  the 
leaves  of  the  mulberry  tree,  which  was  planted 


63 

and  nourished  for  that  purpose  by  the  country 
swain. 

"  May  I  ask  again,  how  came  Therina  by  the 
fine  linen  which  she  is  pleased  to  appear  in  ?  Was 
it  not  made  of  the  stalks  of  flax,  which  grew  up  in 
the  field,  like  other  vegetables?  And  are  not  the 
finest  of  your  muslins  owing  to  the  Indian  cotton- 
tree? 

"Nor  have  we,  Theron,  one  upper  garment, 
whether  coat,  cloak,  or  night-gown,  from  our 
shoulders  to  our  very  feet,  as  rich  and  as  new  as  we 
may  think  them,  whjph  the  sheep,  or  the  poor  silk- 
worm has  not  worn  before  us.  It  is  certain  the 
beaver  bore  our  hats  upon  his  skin. 

"That  soft  fur  was  his  covering  before  it  was 
ours ;  and  the  materials  of  our  very  shoes,  both 
the  upper  part  and  the  soles  of  them,  covered  the 
calf  or  the  heifer,  before  they  were  put  on  our 
feet.  All  this  was  grass  at  first;  for  we  have 
seen  that  all  the  animal  world  owes  its  being  to 
vegetables." 

Theron  acknowledged  the  justice  of  Crito's 
whole  argument,  gave  him  hearty  thanks  for  his 
instructive  lecture,  and  resolved  to  remember 
those  amazing  scenes  of  the  operation  of  nature, 
and  the  astonishing  wisdom  of  its  Author.  "  Nor 
shall  I  ever  forget,"  said  he,  "  the  strange  and 
unexpected  dependence  of  man  on  all  the  meaner 
parts  of  the  creation. 

"  I  am  convinced  that  *  pride  was  never  made 
for  man,'  when  I  see  how  much  akin  his  body  is 
to  *  the  fowls  of  the  air*  and  the  beasts  of  the 
field.' 

"And  I  think,"  continued  he,  "I  am  more  in- 
debted to  my  tenants  than  ever  I  could  have  ima- 
gined ;  nor  will  I  cast  such  a  scornfiil  eye  again 
6* 


64 

on  the  grazier  and  the  farmer,  since  this  flesh  and 
blood  of  mine,  as  well  as  the  furniture  of  my  house, 
and  the  clothes  I  wear,  were  once  growing  in  the 
fields  or  the  woods,  under  their  care  and  cultiva- 
tion." 


Of  the  had  effects  of  Vapours. 

In  mines  there  are  many  and  various  hurtful 
damps  and  vapours,  and  maijy  have  been  the  fatal 
effects  of  them  on  the  labouring  minei^.  The 
most  dangerous  of  all  is  found  in  those  places 
where  the  vapour  has  been  long  confined ;  the  air 
rushing  out  from  thence,  frequently  carries  death 
along  with  it ;  and  scarce  any  escape  to  tell  the 
manner  of  its  operations. 

Some  colliers  in  Scotland,  working  near  an  old 
mine  that  had  been  long  closed  up,  happened, 
without  knowing  danger  so  nigh,  to  open  a  hole 
into  it,  from  the  pit  where  they  were  then  em- 
ployed. 

Happily  at  that  tiijie  they  saw  their  error,  and 
instantly  fled  for  their  lives.  .  The  next  day,  how- 
ever, they  werie  resolved  to  renew  their  work  in 
the  same  pit ;  but  coming  within  the  vapour,  they 
all  instantly  fell  down  dead,  as  if  they  had  been 
shot. 

Amongst  these  unhappy  men,  there  was  one 
whose  wife  was  informed  that  he  was  stifled  in  the 
mine,  and  as  he  happened  to  be  next  the  entrance, 
she  So  far  ventured  down  as  to  see  where  he  lay. 

As  she  approached  the  place,  the  sight  of  her 
husband  inspired  her  with  a  desire  to  rescue  him, 
if  possible,  from  that  dreadful  situation ;  though  a 


65 

little  reflection  might  have  shown  her  that  it  was 
then  too  late. 

But  nothing  could  keep  her  back ;  she  ventured 
forward,  and  had  scarce  touched  him  with  her  hand 
when  the  damp  prevailed,  and  the  misguided, 
though  faithful  woman,  fell  dead  by  his  side. 


On  early  Improvement 

Let  not  the  season  of  youth  be  barren  of  im- 
provement, so  essential  to  happiness  and  respect. 
Thy  future  condition  very  much  depends  on  thy 
conduct  at  this  time  of  life,  whether  good  or  bad. 
Embrace  the  opportunity  while  nature  is  yet  plia- 
ble and  soft,  and  bad  habits  have  not  established 
their  domini^. 

While  prejudices  have  not  darkened  thy  mind, 
and  the  world  has  not  had  time  to  debase  thy  af- 
fections. All  thy  powers  are  more  lively,  disem- 
barrassed, and  free,  than  they  will  be  perhaps  at 
any  future  period.  Whatever  bent  thou  now  givest 
thy  heart  unto,  the  direction  is  likely  to  continue. 

It  wall  form  the  channel  in  which  thy  life  is  to 
run ;  nay,  it  may  determine  an  everlasting  issue. 
Consider,  then,  the  employment  of  this  important 
period,  as  the  highest  trust  which  shall  ever  be 
committed  to  thee ;  as,  in  great  measure,  decisive  of 
thy  happiness,  in  time,  and  in  eternity. 

As  in  the  succession  of  the  seasons,  each  by 
the  invariable  laws  of  nature,  affects  the  produc- 
tions of  what  is  next  in  course ;    so  in  human  fife, 


m- 


every  period  of  our  age,  according  as  it  is  well  or 
ill  spent,  influences  the  happiness  of  that  which  is 
to  follow. 

Virtuous  youth  gradually  brings  forward  a  ripe 
and  flourishing  manhood;  and  such  a  manhood 
passes  of  itself,  without  uneasiness,  into  respectable 
and  peaceable  old  age. 

But  when  the  heart  is  turned  out  of  a  virtuous 
course,  disorder  takes  place  in  the  moral,  just  as 
in  the  vegetable  world.  If  the  spring  put  forth  no 
blossoms,  in  summer  there  will  be  no  beauty,  and 
in  autumn  no  fruit ;  so  if  youth  be  trifled  away 
without  improvement,  manhood  will  be  contempti- 
ble, and  old  age  miserable. 


Snow, 


Snow  consists  of  watery  particles,  frozen  in  the 
air.  Experiments  have  been  made,  which  prove 
that  snow,  at  the  moment  of  falling,  is  twenty-four 
times  lighter  than  water ;  occupying  so  much  more 
space  than  the  water  produced  from  it  when  melted ; 
which  could  not  be  the  case  if  snow  were  not  water 
extremely  rarified. 

But  snow  is  not  mere  water :  for  the  construc- 
tion of  its  particles,  and  the  effects  it  produces, 
are  different  from  that  of  water  and  ice.  In  this 
respect,  the  manner  in  which  the  snow  forms  itself 
has  something  very  remarkable.  , 

When  particles  of  vapour,  collected  together, 
freeze  in  the  atmosphere,  the  saltpetre  dispersed 


67 

in  the  air,  unites  with  it  in  the  form  of  a  little  dart, 
of  a  hexagonal  shape.  While  a  great  number  of 
such  little  darts  unite  together,  the  particles  of 
water  which  are  among  them  grow  hard,  and  take 
the  form  pf  saltpetre. 

This  accounts  for  the  flakes  with  six  sides  which 
are  composed  of  points  like  little  needles,  and  at 
each  of  which,  darts  or  smaller  threads  join  them- 
selves, though  their  form  frequently  alters,  when 
carried  here  and  there  by  the  wind. 

How  wonderful  the  form  of  these  flakes  of  snow 
would  appear  to  us,  if  we  were  not  accustomed  to 
see  them  every  year !  But  because  certain  won- 
ders occur  often,  is  that  a  reason  for  being  inatten- 
tive to  them? 

No,  far  from  it :  let  us  be  more  careful  to  ex- 
amine into  them,  and  to  admire  the  power  of  God, 
who,  in  every  season,  shows  himself  so  rich,  so  in- 
exhaustible in  the  means  to  provide  for  the  con- 
veniences and  pleasures  of  mortals. 

Have  we  a  right  to  complain,  that  winter  does 
not  supply  a  variety  of  amusements  for  the  senses 
and  the  understanding  ?  Is  it  not  an  astonishing 
spectacle  to  see  that  nature  has  formed  even  the 
flakes  of  snow  with  the  most  exact  symmetry?  to 
see  such  a  prodigious  number  of  them  fall  from  the 
sky? — to  observe  the  several  forms  water  takes 
under  the  creating  hand  of  God  ? 

Sometimes  it  forms  itself  into  hail ;  sometimes 
hardens  into  ice;  and  sometimes  changes  into 
snow,  and  into  innumerable  flakes  of  it.  All  these 
changes  serve,  at  the  same  time,  for  the  use  and 
embellishment  of  the  earth,  and  even  in  the  small- 
est phenomena  of  nature,  God  shows  himself  great 
and  worthy  of  adoration. 

Look  no  longer  upon  snow  with  indifference. 


It»  form,  and  the  advantages  resulting  from  it, 
should  lead  us  to  adore  him  who  made  it,  and 
spreadeth  it  upon  the  earth,  covering  and  preserv- 
ing many  a  root  and  plant  from  the  keen  frosty 
winds. 

To  him  whom  all  nature  obeys;  who  causeth 
the  snow  to  fall  in  flakes  like  wool ;  who  spread- 
eth the  white  frost  like  ashes;  who  casteth  hail 
as  in  pieces  ;  who  orderetli  the  cold  to  bless  and 
fertilize  the  earth;  to  him  be  all  praise,  honour, 
and  glory. 


On  the  Knowledge  of  Ourselves. 

In  the  first  place,  let  us  consider  well,  what  are 
the  characters  we  bear  among  our  enemies.  Our 
frieinds  very  often  flatter  us,  as  much  as  our  own 
hearts.  They  either  do  not  see  our  faults,  or  con- 
ceal them  from  us,  or  soften  them  by  their  partial 
representations,  in  such  a  manner  that  we  think 
them  too  trivial  to  take  notice  of. 

An  adversary,  on  the  contrary,  makes  a  stricter 
search  into  us,  and  discovers  every  flaw  and  imper- 
fection in  our  tempers ;  and,  though  his  malice 
may  set  them  in  too  strong  a  light,  it  has  generally 
some  ground  for  what  it  advances. 

In  order,  likewise,  to  come  to  a  true  knowledge 
of  ourselves,  we  should  consider,  on  the  other 
hand,  how  far  we  may  deserve  the  praises  and 
approbations  which  the  worfd  bestows  on  us ; 
whether  the  actions  they  applaud,  proceed  from 
right  and  worthy  motives ;  and  how  far  we  are 
really  possessed  of  the   virtues  which  they  cele- 


69 

brate  or  set  forth,  and  which  gain  us  credit  among 
those  with  whom  we  converse. 

In  the  next  place,  that  we  may  not  deceive  our- 
selves in  a  point  of  so  much  importance,  we  should 
not  lay  too  great  a  stress  on  any  virtues  we  may- 
possess,  which  are  of  a  doubtful  nature  ;  and  such 
we  may  esteem  all  those  in  which  many  men  dis- 
sent from  us,  perhaps  far  superior  to  ourselves: 
they  are  chiefly  opinionative  and  not  practical,  and 
perhaps  only  derive  their  value  from  our  own  pre- 
judices. 

We  should  likewise  be  very  apprehensive  of 
those  actions  which  proceed  from  natural  consti- 
tution, favourite  passions,  particular  education,  or 
whatever  promotes  our  worldly  interest  or  advan- 
tage. In  these,  or  the  like  cases,  one's  judgment 
is  easily  perverted,  and  a  wrong  bias  hung  upon  the 
mind. 

There  is  nothing  of  greater  importance  to  us, 
than  thus  diligently  to  sift  our  thoughts,  and  ex- 
amine all  these  dark  recesses  of  the  mind,  if  we 
would  establish  our  hearts  in  such  a  solid  and  sub- 
stantial virtue,  as  will  turn  to  account  in  that  great 
day,  when  it  must  stand  the  test  of  infinite  wisdom 
and  justice. 

And  lastly,  it  will  be  impossible  to  know  our- 
selves as  we  ought,  except  with  the  Psalmist,  we 
constantly  cry  from  our  hearts,  "  Try  me,  O  God, 
and  seek  the  ground  of  my  heart,  prove  me,  and 
examine  my  thoughts ;  look  well  if  there  be  any 
way  of  wickedness  in  me,  and  lead  me  in  the  way 
everlasting." 


70 


Of  the  Elephant 

This  animal,  when  tamed,  is  gentle,  obedient, 
and  docile;  patient  of  labour,  it  submits  to  tho 
most  toilsome  drudgery ;  and  so  attentive  is  it  to 
the  commands  of  its  governor,  that  a  word  or  look 
is  sufficient  to  stimulate  it  to  the  most  violent  ex- 
ertions. 

It  is  so  attached  to  its  keeper,  that  it  caresses 
him  with  his  trunk,  and  frequently  will  obey  no 
other  master ;  it  knows  his  voice,  and  can  distin- 
guish the  tone  of  command,  whether  of  anger  or  of 
approbation,  and  regulates  its  actions  accordingly : 
it  receives  its  orders  with  attention,  and  executes 
with  eagerness,  but  without  precipitation. 

All  its  movements  are  orderly,  and  seem  to  cor- 
respond with  the  dignity  of  its  appearance,  being 
grave,  majestic,  and  cautious.  It  kneels  down  for 
the  accommodation  of  those  who  would  mount  up- 
on its  back,  and  with  its  pliant  trunk,  assists  them 
to  ascend. 

It  suffers  itself  to  be  harnessed,  and  setms  io 
have  a  pleasure  in  the  finery  of  its  trappings ;  it  is 
used  in  drawing  chariots,  wagons,  and  various  kinds 
of  machines.  One  of  these  animals  will  perform 
with  ease  the  work  of  many  horses. 

The  manner  of  taking,  taming,  and  rendering 
these  animals  submissive,  is  curious,  and  well  de- 
serves a  place  in  the  history  of  the  elephant. 

In  the  midst  of  a  forest,  abounding  with  elephants, 
a  large  piece  of  ground  is  marked  out,  and  sur- 
rounded with  strong  palisadoes,  interwoven  with 
branches  of  trees :  one  end  of  the  enclosure  is  nar- 
row, from  which  it  widens  gradually  so  as  to  take 
in  a  great  extent  of  country. 


1 


71 

Several  hundreds  of  men  are  employed  upon 
the  occasion,  who  place  themselves  in  such  a  man- 
ner as  to  prevent  the  wild  elephants  from  making 
their  escape :  they  kindle  large  fires  at  certain  dis- 
tances, and  make  a  dreadful  noise  with  drums  and 
various  kinds  of  discordant  instruments,  calculated 
for  the  purpose  of  stunning  and  terrifying  the  poor 
animals  ;  whilst  another  party,  consisting  of  some 
thousands,  with  the  assistance  of  the  female  ele- 
phants, trained  for  the  purpose,  drive  the  wild  ele- 
s^hants  slowly  to  the  great  opening  of  the  enclosure, 
the  whole  train  of  hunters  closing  in  after  them, 
shouting  and  making  a  great  noise,  till  the  ele- 
phants are  driven,  by  insensible  degrees,  into  the 
narrow  part  of  the  enclosure,  through  v;hich  there 
is  an  opening  into  a  smaller  space,  strongly  fenced 
in,  and  well  guarded  on  all  sides. 

As  soon  as  one  of  the  elephants  enters  this 
strait,  a  strong  bar  closes  the  passage  from  behind, 
and  he  finds  himself  completely  environed.  On  the 
top  of  this  narrow  passage,  some  of  the  hunts- 
men stand  with  goads  in  their  hands,  urging  the 
creature  forward  to  the  end  of  the  passage,  where 
there  is  an  opening  just  wide  enough  to  let  him 


He  is  now  received  into  the  custody  of  two  fe- 
male elephants,  who  stand  on  each  side  of  him, 
and  press  him  into  the  service :  if  he  is  likely  to 
prove  refractory,  they  begin  to  discipline  him  with 
their  trunks,  till  he  is  reduced  to  obedience,  and 
suffers  himself  to  be  led  to  a  tree,  where  he  is  bound 
by  the  leg  with  stout  thongs,  made  of  untanneilr  elk 
or  buckskin. 

The  tame  elephants  are  then  led  back  to  the  en- 
closure, and  the  others  are  made  to  submit  in  the 
same  manner.  They  are  all  suffered  to  remain 
7 


-;2 

fast  to  the  trees  for  several  days.  Attendants  are 
placed  by  the  side  of  each  animal,  who  supply  him 
with  food,  by  little  and  little,  till  he  is  brought  by 
degrees  to  be  sensible  of  kindness  and  caresses, 
and  allows  himself  to  b6  led  to  the  stable. 

In  the  space  of  fourteen  days,  entire  submission 
is  completed.  During  that  time  he  is  fed  daily 
with  cocoa-nut  leaves,  and  led  once  a  day  to  the 
water,  by  the  tame  ones.  He  becomes  accustom- 
ed to  the  voice  of  his  keeper,  and  at  last  quietly  " 
resigns  his  prodigious  powers  to .  the  service  of 
man. 

This  animal  seems  to  exceed  most  of  the  brute 
creation  in  sagacity.  The  following  account, 
taken  from  Goldsmith,  is  an  instance  :  "In  Delhi, 
an  elephant  passing  along  the  streets,'  put  his 
trunk  into  a  tailor's  shop,  where  several  people 
were  at  work. 

"One  of  the  persons  of  the  shop,  desirous  of 
amusement,  pricked  the  animal's  trunk  with  his 
needle,  and  seemed  highly  delighted  with  this  slight 
punishment. 

"  The  elephant,  however,  passed  on  without 
any  immediate  signs  of  resentment ;  but  coming  to 
a.  puddle  of  dirty  water,  he  filled  his  trunk,  re 
turned  to  the  shop,  and  spirted  the  contents  ovei 
all  the  finery  upon  which  the  tailors  were  tben 
employed."  a*- 


73 


Remarkable  story  of  a  Dog, 


During  tlie  reign  of  Charles  V.  of  France, 
Aubri  de  Montidier,  travelling  alone  in  the  forest 
of  Bondi,  was  murdered  and  buried  at  the  foot  of 
a  tree.  His  dog  remained  upon  the  grave  several 
days,  and  would  not  leave  the  place  till  he  was 
compelled  to  do  so  by  hunger. 

He  came  at  last  to  Paris,  to  the  house  of  an  in- 
timate friend  of  the  unfortunate  Aubri,  and  by  his 
doleful  bowlings,  seemed  to  wish  to  acquaint  him 
of  the  loss  he  had  sustained. 

After  receiving  some  victuals,  he  renewed  his 
noise,  went  to  the  door,  and  turned  about  to  see  if 
he  was  followed  by  any  one ;  came  back  to  his 
master's  friend,  and  pulled  him  by  the  coat,  as  it 
were  to  persuade  him  to  go  along  with  him. 

This  extraordinary  b^aviour  of  the  dog,  his 
returning  without  his  master,  whom  he  never  quit- 
ted, and  who  all  at  once  disappeared,  and  perhaps 
that  distribution  of  justice  and  of  events,  which 
sehdom  permits  any  long  concealment  of  atrocious 
•&M[ies ;  all  these  put  together,  occasioned  the  dog's 
"OBhg  Ifbllowed. 

As  soon  as  he  came  to  the  foot  of  the  tree,  he 
began  to  howl  more  violently  than  ever,  and  to 
scratch  up  the  ground,  as  if  marking  out  the  spot 
where  they  sho^|d  dig.  They  dug,  and  found  the 
body  of  the  unfortunate  Aubri ! 

Some  time  after,  he  accidentally  spied  the  mur- 
derer, whom  all  historians  agree  in  calling  the 
Chevalier  Macaire.  He  flew  at  his  throat  imme- 
diately, and  it  was  with  much  difficulty  he  was 


74 

Ibrced  to  quit  his  hold.  Every  time  the  dog  met 
him,  he  pursued  and  attacked  him  with  the  same 
fury. 

The  dcg's  inveteracy  against  this  man  alone, 
began  to  be  taken  notice  of;  and  people  not  only 
called  to  mind  the  affection  which  he  had  always 
shown  to  his  master,  but  several  instances  of  the 
Chevalier  Macaire's  hatred  and  envy  against  Aubri 
de  Montidier,  came  also  to  be  recollected. 

Some  other  circumstances  increased  the  suspi- 
cion. The  king  being  informed  of  what  had  pas- 
sed, had  the  dog  sent  for,  who  remained  perfectly 
quiet  till  such  time  as  the  Chevalier  Macaire  ap- 
peared, when  immediately,  in  the  midst  of  a  score 
of  other  courtiers,  he  turned  about,  barked,  and 
attempted  to  rush  upon  him. 

At  last  he  seized  him  by  the  throat,  and  brought 
him  to  the  ground ;  in  this  situation  he  acknow- 
ledged his  crime,  in  the  presence  of  the  king  apd 
the  whole  court. 


Observations  on  Man  and  the  Brute 
Creation.  .^     # 

Next  to  man,  in  the  visible  creation,  are  the 
beasts ;  and  certainly,  with  regard  to  the  structure 
of  the  body,  the  difference  is  not  extremely  great 
between  man  and  other  creatures. 

It  principally  appears  in  this ;  that  man  is  per- 
fectly erect,  and  his  form  more  elegant;  that  no 
beast  has  the  feet  of  a  man,  much  less  a  hand  so 
well  fitted  for  every  purpose;   and iastly,  that  no 


7b 

other  animal  has  a  brain  so  large,  in  proportion  to 
its  bulk,  as  man. 

Concerning  the  prone  posture  of  their  bodies, 
we  may  observe  two  things ;  the  parts  ministering 
thereto,  and  the  use  thereof. 

As  to  the  bodily  parts,  it  is  observable,  that  in 
all  these  creatures  the  legs  are  made  exactly  con- 
formable to  their  posture,  as  those  of  man  are  to 
his :  and  further,  that  the  legs  and  feet  are  always 
admirably  well  suited  to  the  motion  and  exercise  of 
each  animal. 

In  some,  they  are  made  for  strength,  to  support 
a  vast  and  unwieldy  body ;  as  in  the  elephant, 
which,  being  a  creature  of  such  prodigious  weight, 
has  its  legs  accordingly  made  like  pillars. 

In  others,  they  are  made  for  agility  and  swift- 
ness. So  deer,  hares,  and  several  other  animals, 
have  their  legs  very  slender,  but  strong  withal,  and 
every  way  adapted  for  quick  motion. 

In  some  they  are  formed  only  for  walking  and 
running ;  but  in  others,  for  swimming  too :  thus 
in  the  feet  of  the  otter,  the  toes  are  all  conjoined 
with  membranes,  as  they  are  in  geese  and  ducks ; 
and  in  swimming,  it  is  observable,  that  when  the 
foot  goes  forward  in  the  water,  the  toes  are  close, 
but  when  backward,  they  spread  out ;  by  which 
they  more  forcibly  strike  the  water,  and  drive  them- 
selves forward. 

In  some,  as  moles,  they  are  made  for  walking  and 
digging;  and  in  others,  for  walking  and  flying,  as 
in  the  bat  and  flying  squirrel 

In  some,  they  are  made  more  weak,  for  the 
plainer  lands  :  in  others,  stiff  and  less  flexible,  as 
those  of  the  elk,  for  traversing  ice ;  and  the  goat, 
for  dangerous  places. 


There  are  many  more  to  describe,  which  could 
not  be  done  in  this  lesson ;  but  if  curiosity  leads, 
they  may  be  sought  for  in  treatises  on  Natural 
History. 


Revolutions    which    are    constantly  in 
Nature. 

The  sun,  moon,  and  stars,  continue  constantly 
the  same  course  once  prescribed  to  them.  But 
who  is  it  that  supports  and  directs  them?  Who 
teaches  these  bodies  the  course  they  ought  to 
take?  Who  points  out  to  them  the  time  for  their 
revolutions  ? 

Who  empowers  them  to  move  always  with  the 
same  force  ?  Who  prevents  them  from  falling  on 
our  globe,  or  from  losing  their  way  in  the  immense 
space  of  the  heavens?  All  these  questions  lead 
us  to  God. 

It  is  he  who  appointed  the  circles  they  were  to 
describe ;  it  is  he  who  supports,  who  guides,  and 
prevents  them  from  confusion.  By  laws  unknown 
to  us,  he  causeth  these  celestial  bodies  to  move 
with  incredible  swiftness,  and  with  such  perfect 
regularity,  that  nothing  can  disturb  it. 

Nearer  to  us,  there  are  in  the  elements,  continual 
revolutions,  though  they  are  not  visible  to  common 
observers.  The  air  is  in  perpetual  motion:  *the 
water  continues  its  course  without  ceasing;  the 
rivers  run  into  the  sea ;  and,  from  its  broad  sur- 
face, vapours  rise,  which  produce  clouds. 

These  fall  again  upon  the  earth,  in  rain,  snow, 
ai}d  hail ;  they  penetrate  into  the  mountains,  and 


77 

fill  the  springs ;  from  whence  the  rivulets  become 
rivers,  when  they  have  met,  and  are  thereby  aug- 
mented in  their  course^ 

Thus,  the  water,  wliich  had  fallen  from  the 
clouds,  returns  back  into  the  sea.  The  seasons 
last  a  limited  time,  and  succeed  each  other,  ac- 
cording to  the  order  established.  Each  year  the 
fertile  earth  produces  again  its  j)lants,  and  its  har- 
vest. 

Yet  it  is  never  exhausted ;  for,  by  means  of  this 
continued  circulation,  whatever  the  earth  yields 
IS  restored  to  it  again.  The  winter  comes  at  the 
appointed  time,  and  brings  the  repose  it  has  occa- 
sion for ;  and  when  it  has  fulfilled  the  designs  of 
the  Creator,  the  spring  succeeds ;  and  this  restores 
to  the  earth  the  children  it  has  lost. 

A  similar  circulation  takes  place  in  the  body  of 
every  living  creature ;  the  blood  flows  continually 
through  its  several  channels,  distributes  to  each 
limb  the  nourishing  juices  it  requires,  and  then 
returns  to  the  heart,  from  whence  it  came. 

All  these  revolutions  lead  us  to  reflect  on  the 
Supreme  Being,  who  laid  the  foundation  of  them ; 
and  who,  by  his  power  and  wisdom,  has  continued 
to  direct  them  to  this  very  moment. 


Joy  and  Grief, 

Let  not  thy  mirth  be  so  extravagant  as  to  in- 
toxicate thy  mind,  nor  thy  sorrows  so  heavy  as  to 
depress  thy  heart.    This  world  affordeth  no  good 


78 

so  transporting,  nor  inflictetli  any  evil  so  severe, 
as  should  raise  thee  far  above,  or  sink  thee  much 
beneath,  the  balance  of  moderation. 

Lo !  yonder  standeth  the  house  of  Joy.  It  is 
painted  on  the  outside,  and  looketh  gay ;  thou 
mayest  know  it  from  the  continual  noise  of  mirth 
and  exultation  that  issue th  from  it. 

The  mistress  standeth  at  the  door,  and  calleth 
aloud  to  all  that  pass  by ;  she  singeth  and  shouteth, 
and  laugheth  without  ceasing. 

She  inviteth  them  to  go  in  and  taste  the  plea- 
sures of  life,  which  she  telleth  them  are  no  where 
to  be  found  but  beneath  her  roof. 

But  enter  thou  not  into  her  gate  ;  neither  asso- 
ciate thyself  with  those  who  frequent  her  house. 

They  call  themselves  the  sons  of  Joy ;  they  laugh 
and  seem  delighted :  but  madness  and  folly  are  in 
all  their  doings. 

They  are  linked  with  mischief^  hand  in  hand, 
and  their  steps  lead  down  to  evil.  Dangers  beset 
them  round  about,  and  the  pit  of  destruction  yawn- 
eth  beneath  their  feet. 

Look  now  on  the  other  side,  and  behold,  in  that 
vale  overshadowed  with  trees,  and  hid  from  the 
sight  of  men,  the  habitation  of  Sorrow. 

Her  bosom  heave  th  with  sighs,  her  mouth  is 
filled  with  lamentation  ;  she  delighteth  to  dwell 
on  the  subject  of  human  misery. 

She  looketh  on  the  common  accidents  of  life, 
and  weepeth ;  the  weakness  and  wickedness  of 
man  are  the  theme  of  her  lips. 

All  nature  to  her  teemeth  with  evil ;  every  ob- 
ject she  seeth  is  tinged  with  the  gloom  of  her  own 
mind,  and  the  voice  of  complaint  saddeneth  her 
dwelling  day  and  night. 

Come  not  near  her  cell;  her  breath  is  Qonta- 


i 


79 

gious ;  she  will  blast  the  fruits  and  wither  the  floor- 
ers, that  adorn  and  sweeten  the  garden  of  life.  In 
avoiding  the  house  of  Joy,  let  not  thy  feet  betray 
thee  to  the  borders  of  this  dismal  mansion ;  but 
pursue  with  care  the  middle  path,  which  will  lead 
thee  by  a  gentle  ascent  to  the  bower  of  Tranquil- 
lity. 

With  her  dwelleth  Peace,  with  her  dwelleth 
Safety  and  Contentment.  She  is  cheerful,  but 
not  gay ;  she  is  serious,  but  not  sad ;  she  vieweth 
the  joys  and  the  sorrows  of  life  with  an  equal  and 
steady  eye. 


Of  Mountains, 


•  There  is  not,  perhaps,  in  all  nature,  any  thing 
that  impresses  an  unaccustomed  spectator  with 
such  ideas  of  awful  solemnity,  as  those  immense 
piles  on  the  bosom  of  the  earth,  which  seem  to 
mock  the  littleness  of  human  magnificence. 

In  countries  where  there  is  nothing  but  plains, 
the  smallest  elevations  or  hills  are  apt  to  excite 
wonder.  In  Holland,  which  is  all  flat,  they  show 
a  little  ridge  of  hills  near  the  sea  side,  which  Boer- 
haave  generally  marked  out  to  his  pupils,  as  being 
mountains  of  no  small  consideration. 

What  would  be  the  feelings  of  such  an  auditory, 
could  they  at  once  be  presented  with  a  view  of 
the  heights  and  precipices  of  the  Alps  or  Andes, 
or  of  the  AUeganies  ! 

Even  in  England,  they  have  not  sufficient  ideas 


80 

of  a  mountain  prospect ;  their  hills  are  generally 
sloping  from  the  plain,  and  clothed  to  the  very  top 
with  verdure  ;  they  can  scarcely,  therefore,  lift  their 
imaginations  to  those  astonishing  piles,  whose  tops 
peep  up  behind  the  high  and  intervening  clouds, 
sharp  and  cragged,  reaching  to  the  heights  that 
human  avarice  or  curiosity  has  never  been  able  to 
ascend. 

It  has  been  asked  by  the  curious,  how  moun- 
tains came  to  be  formed,  and  what  are  their  uses  ? 
In  our  own  happy  region,  we  generally  see  no  in- 
equalities but  such  £is  contribute  to  use  and  beauty ; 
and,  therefore,  we  are  amazed  at  a  question,  how 
such  necessary  things,  though  inequalities,  came 
to  be  formed  ;  at  the  same  time  wondering  at  the 
beauty  and  fitness  of  all  things  within  our  prospect 

But  though  with  us  there  may  be  no  great  cause 
for  such  a  demand  ;  yet  in  those  countries  where 
huge  mountains  deform  the  face  of  nature,  where 
they  pour  down  cataracts,  or  give  fury  to  tempests, 
there  seems  to  be  a  powerful  incitement  to  those 
who  dwell  thereabout,  aiKi  have  leisure  to  be  inqui- 
sitive as  to  their  cause  and  use :  but  as  wise  men 
have  differed  very  much  respecting  these  points,  let 
us  be  content  to  admit  that  they  answer  wise  pur- 
poses in  the  economy  of  creation,  although  their 
uses  may  not  be  fully  known  to  .us. 


81 


Of  Filial  Duty, 


As  Storks  live  to  a  very  advanced  age,  their 
limbs  grow  feeble,  their  feathers  fall  off,  and  they 
are  incapable  of  providing  for  their  food  or  safety. 
Being  birds  of  passage,  they  are  under  another  in- 
convenience ;  for,  they  are  not  able  to  remove 
themselves  from  one  country  to  another  at  the 
usual  season. 

In  all  these  circumstances,  it  is  reported  that 
their  young  ones  assist  them,  covering  them  with 
their  wings,  and  nourisnmg  them  with  the  warmth 
of  their  bodies.  They  even  bring  them  provi- 
sions in  their  beaks,  and  carry  them  from  place  to 
place  on  their  backs,  or  support  them  with  their 
vings. 

In  this  manner  they  return,  as  much  as  lies  in 
their  power,  the  care  which  was  bestowed  on  them 
when  they  were  young  in  the  nest.  A  striking 
example  of  filial  piety,  inspired  by  instinct,  from 
which  reason  itself  need  not  be  ashamed  to  take 
example. 

"Honour  thy  father  and  thy  mother,  that  thy 
days  may  be  long  in  the  land  which  the  Lord  thy 
God  giveth  thee,"  was  an  express  commandment 
and  the  only  one  to  which  a  promise  was  annexed. 
Among  the  Israelites,  the  slightest  offence  against 
a  parent  was  punished  in  the  most  exemplary 
manner. 

Certainly,  nothing  can  be  more  just  and  reason- 
able, than  that  we  should  love,  honour,  and  suc- 
cour those  who  are  the  very  authors  of  our  being, 
and  to  whose  tender  care  (under  Heaven)  we  owe 


82 

the  continuance  of  it  during  the  helpless  state  ot 
our  infancy. 

Love,  charity,  and  an  intercourse  of  good  offices, 
are  what  we  undoubtedly  owe  to  all  mankind ;  and 
he  who  omits  them,  is  guilty  of  such  a  crime  as 
generally  carries  its  punishment  with  it. 

To  our  parents,  however,  more,  much  more, 
than  all  this  is  due;  and,  when  we  are  serving  them, 
we  ought  to  reflect,  that,  whatever  difficulties  we 
go  through  for  their  sake,  we  cannot  do  more  for 
them  than  they  have  done  for  us  ;  and  that  there  is 
no  danger  of  our  over-paying  the  vast  debt  of  grati- 
tude they  have  laid  us  under. 

In  fine,  we  should  consider,  that  it  is  a  duty  most 
peculiarly  insisted  on  by  Heaven  itself;  and  if  we 
obey  the  command,  there  is  no  doubt  but  we  shall 
also  receive  the  reward  annexed  to  it. 


Every  thing  in  Nature  tends  to  the  Good 
of  Mankind, 

We  cannot  be  too  sensible  of  the  love  and  pre- 
ference with  which  we  are  honoured,  by  God's 
distinguishing  us  so  advantageously  from  other 
creatures. 

Let  us  feel,  as  we  ought,  the  great  happiness  of 
being  particularly  the  objects  of  his  beneficent 
liberality ;  of  being,  in  some  measure,  the  centre 
of  all  he  has  produced  for  the  manifestation  of  his 
glorious  attributes. 

It  is  for  us  that  all  nature  acts  and  labours  in 


83 

the  earth,  in  the  air,  and  in  the  waters.  For  us 
the  horse's  hoof  is  furnislied  with  that  horn,  which 
it  would  have  no  occasion  for,  were  it  not  to  draw 
burdens,  and  to  climb  the  mountains. 

For  us  the  silk-worm  spins  its  bag,  shuts  itself 
up  in  it,  and  afterwards  leaves  us  this  web  so  art- 
fully contrived.  For  us  the  gnat  lays  its  eggs  in 
the  water  to  feed  the  fish,  which  serve  themselves 
for  our  subsistence. 

For  us  the  bee  gathers,  from  the  flowers,  the 
exquisite  honey.  For  us  the  ox  is  put  to  the 
plough,  and  desires  no  other  reward  than  a  httle 
food.  It  is  also  for  us  that  the  forests,  the  fields, 
and  the  gardens,  abound  in  riches.  For  us  also 
are  designed  the  treasures  the  mountains  contain. 

It  is  true  that  we  have,  beyond  comparison, 
more  wants  than  the  brute  creation,  but  we  have 
also  many  more  faculties,  talents,  and  industry,  to 
make  every  thing  around  us  serve  for  our  use  and 
pleasure. 

Numbers  of  creatures  contribute  to  our  food, 
clothes,  and  habitations  ;  and  furnish  us  with  innu- 
merable conveniences  and  enjoyments.  If  God 
has  created  us  with  so  many  wants,  it  is  to  procure 
us  a  greater  variety  of  agreeable  sensations. 

It  would  be  impossible  for  us  to  satisfy  those 
multiplied  wants,  if  animals  had  as  many  as  we 
have;  and  it  is  in  order  that  we  should  have 
plenty  of  every  thing,  that  the  things  they  require 
are  generally  such  as  mankind  can  make  no  use  of. 

But  it  is  not  our  food  only,  that  God  has  pro- 
vided with  so  much  goodness :  he  has  designed 
to  procure  us  a  thousand  other  enjoyments.  It 
is  for  us  that  the  lark  and  the  nightingale  smg ; 

8 


84 

that  the  flowers  perfume  the  air ;  that  the  fields 
and  the  gardens  are  adorned  with  so  many  diffe- 
rent colours. 

Above  ail,  he  has  given  us  reason,  to  enable  us 
to  make  every  thing  contribute  to  our  support  and 
pleasure ;  to  rule  over  animals ;  to  subdue  the 
whale  and  the  lion ;  and,  what  is  still  more  pre- 
cious, in  another  way,  to  take  pleasure  in  his 
works ;  to  contemplate  the  beauty,  the  greatness, 
and  magnificence  of  them  :  to  admire  their  order 
and  harmony. 

O  man  !  thou  art  so  endowed  and  so  loaded  with 
favours,  how  canst  thou  ever  be  grateful  enough 
to  thy  heavenly  Benefactor  ?  What  love  can  be 
perfect  enough,  to  answer,  in  any  degree,  to  that 
which  he  has  shown  unto  us!  Let  us  frequently 
reflect  on  the  liberal  blessings  which  we  receive 
from  him  every  hour. 

But  above  all,  let  us  acknowledge  the  mercies  of 
God,  in  the  blessings  he  reserves  for  us  hereafter. 
For  what  are  the  blessings  of  life,  in  comparison  of 
the  glory  which  awaits  us  in  heaven  ? 

It  is  true,  that  even  here,  we  continually  expe- 
rience the  effects  of  his  benevolence,  and  are  sur- 
rounded with  the  wonders  of  his  goodness;  but 
our  pleasures  are  mixed  with  pain,  and  perfect  hap- 
piness can  only  be  found  in  heaven. 


On  the  state  of  Sleep. 

Let  us  observe  what  wisdom  is  displayed  m 
these  remarkable  incidents  of  our  frame,  sleep  and 


85 

dreams :  so  remarkable,  that  tliey  are  a  kind  of 
experimental  mystery,  a  standing  miracle. 

Behold  the  most  vigorous  constitution,  when  re- 
signed to  the  slumbers  of  the  night.  Its  activity 
is  oppressed  vt^ith  indolence ;  its  strength  suffers 
a  temporary  annihilation.  The  nerves  are  like  a 
bow  unstrung,  the  whole  animal  like  a  motionless 
log. 

Behold  a  person  of  the  most  delicate  sensations 
and  amiable  dispositions.  His  eyes,  though  wide 
open,  discern  no  light,  distinguish  no  objects.  His 
ears,  with  the  organs  unimpaired,  perceive  not  the 
sounds  that  are  round  about  them.  The  very  fine 
sense  of  feeling  is  overwhelmed  with  an  utter  stu- 
pefaction. Where  are  his  social  affections?  He 
knows  not  his  tender  parent,  nor  the  friend  that  is 
as  his  own  soul. 

Behold  the  most  ingenious  scholar,  skilful  in 
learning.  In  this  state,  how  are  all  his  thinking 
faculties  unhinged,  and  instead  of  close  connected 
reasonings,  there  is  nothing  but  a  disjointed  hud- 
dle of  absurd  notions  :  instead  of  well  digested 
principles,  nothing  but  a  disorderly  jumble  of  con- 
ceptions. 

Yet  no  sooner  does  he  awake,  than  he  is  pos- 
sessed of  all  his  former  endowments.  His  sinews 
are  braced  and  fit  for  action,  his  senses  brisk  and 
keen.  The  frozen  affections  melt  with  tender- 
ness :  the  romantic  visionary  is  again  the  master  of 
reason. 

And,  (what  is  very  surprising,)  the  confused 
mind  does  not  regulate  itself  by  degrees,  but  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye  it  is  possessed  of  all  its 
faculties!  Why  does  not  the  numbness  which 
seized  the  animal  powers,  chain  the  limbs  perpe- 
tually ?  Why  does  not  the  stupor  that  deadened  all 


86 

the  senses,  hold  fast  its  possessions?  When  the 
thoughts  are  once  disadjusted,  why  are  they  not 
always  in  confusion? 

How  is  it,  from  an  inactivity  resembling  death, 
and  from  extravagancies  litde  differing  from  mad 
ness;  that  the  body  and  mind  are  so  suddenly  re- 
stored to  their  natural  powers  ?  the  body  to  its  vi- 
gour and  agility,  the  mind  to  sedateness  and  har- 
mony !  Surely  it  is  the  Lord's  doing,  and  it  is  mar- 
vellous in  our  eyes ! 


Of  the  formation  of  Islands, 


New  islands  are  formed  in  two  ways ;  either 
suddenly,  by  the  action  of  subterranean  fires,  or 
more  slowly,  by  the  deposition  of  mud  carried 
down  by  rivers,  and  stopped  in  its  course  at  the 
mouths  of  the  rivers  or  elsewhere,  by  various  ac- 
cidents. 

With  respect  particularly  to  the  fii-st,  ancient 
historians  and  modern  travellers  give  us  such  ac- 
counts as  we  can  have  no  reason  to  doubt.  Seneca 
assures  us,  that  in  his  time,  the  Island  of  Thera- 
sia  appeared  unexpectedly  to  some  mariners,  as 
they  were  employed  i»n  another  pursuit. 

Pliny  assures  us,  that  thirteen  islands  in  the 
Mediterranean  appeared  at  once,  springing  up,  as 
it  were,  from  under  the  water ;  the  cause  of  which 
he  ascribes,  rather  to  the  retiring  of  the  sea  ii> 
those  parts,  than  to  any  power  under  the  earth. 


87 

However,  he  mentions  the  island  of  Hiera,  near 
that  of  Therasia,  as  formed  by  subterraneous  ex- 
plosions :  and  adds  to  his  Hs.t  several  others,  form- 
ed in  the  same  manner.  In  one  of  which  he  re- 
lates, that  fish  in  great  abundance  were  found, 
and  that  all  those  who  eat  of  them,  died  shortly 
after. 

In  the  year  1707,  a  slight  earthquake  was  per- 
ceived at  Santorin ;  and  the  day  following,  at  sun 
rising,  an  object  was  seen  by  the  inhabitants  of  that 
island,  at  two  or  three  miles  distance  at  sea,  which 
appeared  like  a  floating  rock. 

Some  persons,  either  from  a  desire  of  gain  or  to 
gratify  their  curiosity,  went  there,  and  found  even 
while  they  stood  upon  this  rock,  thai  it  seemed  to 
rise  beneath  their  feet. 

They  perceived  also,  that  its  surface  was  cover- 
ed with  pumice  stones  and  oysters,  which  it  rais- 
ed from  the  bottom.  Every  day  after,  until  the 
fourteenth  of  the  next  month,  this  rock  seemed 
considerably  to  increase  ;  and  then '  was  found  to 
be  half  a  mile  round,  and  about  thirty  feet  above 
the  sea. 

The  earth  of  which  it  was  composed  seemed 
whitish,  with  a  small  portion  of  clay.  Soon  after 
this,  again  the  sea  seemed  troubled,  and  steams 
arose,  which  were  very  offensive  to  the  inhabitants 
of  Santorin. 

But  on  the  sixteenth  of  the  following  month, 
seventeen  or  eighteen  rocks  were  seen  to  rise  out 
of  the  sea,  and  at  length  to  join  together.  All  this 
was  accompanied  with  the  most  terrible  noise  and 
fires,  which  proceeded  from  the  island  that  was 
newly  formed.  The  whole  mass,  however,  of  all 
this  new  formed  earth  uniting,  increased  every 
day,  botli  in  height  and  breadth,  and  by  the  force 
8* 


88 

of  its  explosions,  cast  forth  rocks  to  a  very  great 
distance. 

This  continued  to  bear  the  same  dreadful  ap- 
pearance till  near  the  end  of  the  same  year;  and 
it  is  at  present  a  volcano,  which  sometimes  renews 
its  eruptions.  It  is  about  three  -miles  in  circum* 
ference,  and  from  about  thirty  to  Forty  feet  high. 


Pyrrhus  and  Fahricius, 


A  TREATY  being  on  foot  between  the  Romans 
and  Pyrrhus,  king  of  Macedon,  for  the  exchange 
of  prisoners ;  the  latter,  after  having  given  a  ge- 
neral audience  to  the  ambassadors,  took  Fabricius 
aside,  and  conversed  with  him  to  the  following 
purport : 

After  telling  him  he  was  sensible  of  his  merit ; 
that  he  was  convinced  of  his  excellence  as  a  gene- 
ral, and  perfect  qualifications  for  the  command  of 
an  army ;  that  justice  and  temperance  were  united 
in  his  character,  and  that  he  justly  passed  for  a 
person  of  virtue:  he  lamented  the  certainty  of 
his  poverty,  and  saying,  that  fortune  in  this  particu- 
lar, had  treated  him  with  injustice,  by  misplacing 
him  in  the  class  of  indigent  senators. 

In  order,  therefore,  to  supply  that  deficiency, 
said  Pyrrhus,  provided  thou  wilt  assist  me  to  ne- 
gociate  an  honourable  peace,  I  am  ready  to  give 
as  much  gold  and  silver  as  will  raise  thee  above 
the  richest  citizen  of  Rome ;  being  fully  persuaded 


89 

that  no  expense  can  be  more  honourable  to  a 
prince,  than  that  which  is  employed  in  the  relief 
of  great  men,  who  are  compelled  by  their  poverty 
to  lead  a  life  unworthy  of  their  virtue,  and  that 
this  is  the  noblest  purpose  to  which  a  king  can  pos 
sibly  devote  his  treasures. 

The  answer  of  Fabricius  was  as  follows  : 

"As  to  my  poverty,  thou  hast,  indeed,  been 
rigntly  informed.  My  whole  estate  consists  in  a 
house  of  but  mean  appearance,  and  a  little  spot  of 
ground,  from  which,  by  my  own  labour,  I  draw 
my  support. 

"  But  if  any  have  been  persuaded  to  think,  that 
this  poverty  makes  me  less  considered  in  my  coun- 
try, or  in  any  degree  unhappy,  they  are  extremely 
deceived. 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  complain  of  fortune  ,  she 
supplies  me  with  all  that  nature  requires ;  and  if 
r  am  without  superfluities,  I  am  also  free  from  the 
desire  of  them. 

"  With  these,  I  confess,  I  should  be  more  able 
to  succour  the  necessitous,  the  only  advantage  for 
which  the  wealthy  are  to  be  envied.  But,  small 
as  my  possessions  are,  I  can  still  contribute  some- 
thing to  the  support  of  the  state,  and  the  assistance 
of  my  friends. 

"With  regard  to  honours,  my  country  places 
me,  poor  as  I  am,  upon  a  level  with  the  richest; 
for  Rome  knows  no  qualifications  for  great  em- 
ployments, but  virtue  and  ability. 

"  She  intrusts  me  with  the  command  of  her 
armies,  and  confides  to  my  care  the  most  impor- 
tant negociations.  My  poverty  does  not  lessen 
the  weight  and  influence  of  my  counsels  in  the 
senate.  The  Roman  people  honour  me  for  that 
very  poverty  which  some  consider  as  a  disgrace. 


90 

They  know  the  many  opportunities  I  have  had  Ik 
war  to  enrich  myself,  without  incurring  censure. 

"  They  are  convinced  of  my  disinterested  zeaJ 
for  their  prosperity ;  and  if  I  have  any  thing  tc 
complain  of  in  the  return  they  make,  it  is  only  the 
excess  of  their  applause. 

"What  value,  then,  can  I  set  upon  gold  and 
silver?  What  king  can  add  any  thing  to  my  for- 
tune? Always  attentive  to  discharge  the  duties 
incumbent  on  me,  I  have  a  mind  free  from  self- 
reproach,  and  I  have  an  honest  fame." 


Of  speaking  publicly  in   the  cause  of 
Virtue, 

Though  we  may  keep  good  company  to  acquire 
virtue  and  knowledge,  Christianity  teaches  us, 
that  we  were  not  born  for  ourselves  ;  and  there- 
fore we  ought,  at  proper  opportunities,  to  converse 
with  others,  that  they  may  learn  and  see  how 
much  the  grace  of  God  can  make  men  different 
from  one  another :  and  though  our  conversation 
does  not  presently  reform  such,  yet  it  may  not  be 
altogether  ineffectual :  for  the  seeds  of  virtue  may 
a  long  while  lie  dead,  yet  at  last  may  flourish  and 
come  forth,  so  that  our  conversation  may  have  a 
good  effect,  though  not  seen  by  us  ;  and  particu- 
larly, it  should  be  done  with  a  single  eye  to  the 
glory  of  God  and  their  good,  clear  of  all  ostenta- 
tion. 

Besides,  it  may  not  be  a  little  serviceable  foi 
people  of  piety  and  parts,  to  speak  of  religion. 


91 

even  amongst  those  who  deride  it,  and  thereby 
make  their  consciences  a  witness  of  God  and  good 
things  ;  to  let  them  see  the  beauty  of  a  pious,  good 
life,  and  to  let  them  know  they  despise  those  vani- 
ties the  others  dote  on,  living  contentedly  with- 
out their  sinful  jollities :  also,  to  inform  them,  that 
a  virtuous  life  is  not  impracticable  to  bad  men,  by 
a  true  repentance  for  the  past,  and  sincere  en- 
deavours for  the  future,  to  forsake  the  ways  of  ini- 
quity, and  pursue  the  path  of  truth,  which  God  is 
constantly  striving  to  bring  forth  in  them  ;  and  is, 
through  infinite  mercy,  both  willing  and  able  to 
accomplish,  if  man  will  cease  from  his  obstinate 
rebellion  against  him. 

Our  Saviour,  conversing  with  publicans  and 
sinners,  gained  their  hearts  and  reformed  their 
lives ;  by  which  we  may  be  assured,  that  it  is  the 
duty  of  every  Christian  to  imitate  him  in  the  same 
when  an  occasion  offers  itself. 

But  I  would  not  be  understood  to  recommend  a 
long  or  constant  stay  in  the  company  of  bad  men, 
which  would  be  too  dangerous,  especially  to  young 
people ;  but  only,  not  to  neglect  or  despair  of 
doing  good,  when  we  happen  to  be  amongst  them : 
in  such  cases,  we  should  remember  the  saying  of 
our  Lord,  "  He  that  is  ashamed  of  me  amongst 
men,  of  him  will  I  be  ashamed  before ^my  Father 
hereafter." 


92 


Passion  and  Patience, 


Passion  is  a  fever  of  the  mind,  which  ever 
leaves  us  weaker  than  it  found  us.  It  is  the 
threshold  of  madness  and  insanity  ;  and,  indeed, 
they  are  so  much  alike  that  they  sometimes  can- 
not be  distinguished,  and  their  effects  are  often 
equally  fatal. 

The  first  step  to  moderation  is,  to  perceive  that 
we  are  falling  into  a  passion.  It  is  much  easier 
wholly  to  prevent  ourselves  from  falling  into  a 
passion,  than  to  keep  it  within  just  bounds :  that 
which  few  can  moderate,  almost  any  body  may 
prevent. 

Envy  and  wrath  shorten  life ;  and  anxiety  bring- 
eth  age  before  its  time.  We  ought  to  distrust  our 
passions,  even  when  they  appear  the  most  rea- 
sonable. Who  overcomes  his  passion,  overcomes 
his  strongest  enemy.  If  we  do  not  subdue  our 
anger,  it  will  subdue  us. 

A  passionate  temper  renders  a  man  unfit  for  ad- 
vice, deprives  him  of  his  reason,  robs  him  of  all 
that  is  great  or  noble  in  his  nature,  destroys  friend- 
ship, changes  justice  into  cruelty,  and  turns  all  or- 
der into  coflfusion. 

Herod,  the  Tetrarch  of  Judea,  had  so  little 
command  over  his  passion,  that  upon  every  slight 
occasion,  his  anger  would  transport  him  into  abso- 
lute madness.  In  such  a  desperate  fit  he  killed 
Josippus. 

Sometimes  "he  would  be  sorry,  and  repent  of  the 
folly  and  injuries  he  had  done,  when  anger  had 
clouded  his  understanding :  and  soon  after  commit 


93 

ifae  same  outrages,  so  that  none  about  him  were 
Jong  safe :  and  no  wonder,  for  unrestrained  anger 
quickly  breaks  out  into  madness. 

There  is  httlc  difference  between  a  madman  and 
an  angry  man  while  the  fit  continues ;  because 
both  are  void  of  reason,  inexorable,  and  blind :  for 
tliat  reason,  it  too  often  subverts  whole  families, 
towns,  cities,  and  kingdoms. 

It  is  a  vice  that  few  men  are  able  to  conceal : 
for  if  it  do  not  betray  itself  by  external  signs,  such 
fts  a  sudden  paleness  in  the  countenance,  and  trem- 
bling in  the  joints,  it  is  more  impetuous  within; 
secretly  gnaws  the  very  heart,  and  produces  dan- 
gerous effects  on  those  that  nourish  it. 

How  different  is  the  conduct  of  him  who  suffer- 
eth  not  anger  to  deprive  him  of  reason.  The  tem- 
per of  Sir  [Isaac  Newton  is  said  to  have  been  so 
equal  andjmild,  that  no  accident  could  disturb  it; 
and  a  remarkable  instance  of  it  is  related,  as  fol 
lows: 

He  had(  a  favourite  little  dog,  which  he  called 
Diamond ;  and  being  one  day  called  out  of  his 
^tudy  into  the  next  room.  Diamond  was  left  behind 
him. 

When  Sir  Isaac  returned,  having  been  absent 
but  a  few  minutes,  he  had  the  mortification  to  find 
that  his  dog,  having  thrown  down  a  lighted  candle 
apiong  some  papers,  the  nearly  finished  labours  of 
many  years  were  in  flames,  and  almost*  consumed 
to  ashes. 

The  loss,  as  he  was  very  far  advanced  in  years, 
was  irretrievable ;  yet,  without  once  striking  the 
dog,  he  only  rebuked  him  with  this  exclamation : 
"  O,  Diamond !  Diamond !  thou  little  knowest  the 
mischief  thou  hast  done." 


94 


On  a  true  Christian  Life, 


We  cannot  be  said  to  possess  the  virtues  and 
holy  tempers  of  Christianity,  unless  we  practise 
them  in  our  ordinary  hfe. 

So  that  Christianity  is  so  far  from  leaving  us  to 
live  in  the  common  ways  of  men,  conforming  to 
the  folly  of  customs,  and  gratifying  the  passions 
and  tempers  which  the  spirit  of  the  world  delights 
in ;  it  is  so  far  from  indulging  us  in  any  of  these 
things,  that  all  its  virtues  that  it  makes  necessarv 
to  salvation,  are  only  so  many  ways  of  hving  above 
and  contrary  to  the  world,  jn  all  the  common  ac- 
tions of  our  life. 

If  our  common  life  is  not  a  continual  course  of 
humility,  self-denial,  renunciation  of  tae  world, 
poverty  of  spirit,  and  heavenly  affection,  we  do 
not  live  the  lives  of  Christians. 

But  yet,  though  it  is  thus  plain,  that  this,  and 
this  alone  is  Christianity,  an  uniform,  open,  and 
visible  practice  of  all  these  virtues;    yet  it  is  as    x    ^ 
plain,  that  there  is  little  or  nothing  of  this  to  be  |f  '^ 
found,  even  amongst  the  better  sort  of  people. 

We-  see  them  often  at  places  of  worship,  and 
pleased  with  fine  preachers;  but  look  into  their 
lives,  we  see  them  just  the  same  sort  of  people  as 
others  are,  that  make  no  pretensions  to  dcTotion. 
The  difference  that  we  find  betwixt  them,  is  only 
that  of  their  natural  tempers. 

They  have  the  same  taste  of  the  world,  the  same 
worldly   cares,   and  fears,   and  joys;    they  have 


95 

the  same  turn  of  mind,  equally  vain  in  their  de- 
sires. 

We  see  the  same  fondness  for  state  and  equi- 
page, the  same  pride  and  vanity  of  dress,  the  same 
self-love  and  indulgence,  the  same  foolish  friend- 
ships and  groundless  hatreds,  the  same  levity  of 
mind  and  trifling  spirit,  the  same  fondness  for  di- 
versions, the  same  idle  dispositions  and  vain  ways 
of  spending  their  time  in  visiting  and  conversation 
as  the  rest  of  the  world,  that  make  no  pretensions 
to  devotion. 

Alas!  this  is  too  much  the  state  of  the  sober- 
^  minded  of  all  denominations ;  therefore,  O  youth, 
^  rest  not  in  form  or  ceremony,  nor  take  them  for  a 
cloak  to  thy  lukewarmness,  but  strive  earnestly  to 
be  what  is  requisite  and  indispensable  for  thee,  if 
thou  wouldst  be  eternally  happy ;  that  is,  a  truly 
humble  and  devout  soul,  by  a  strict  obedience  to 
the  divine  laws,  through  the  power  of  the  divine 
influence  of  God. 


Of  the  Rhinoceros, 


A  RHINOCEROS,  ncxt  to  the  elephant,  is  the  most 
extraordinary  animal  in  the  East  Indies.  He  is 
equal  in  height  to  a  middling  horse,  but  is  shaped 
like  a  wild  boar,  only  he  is  much  larger,  and  has 
shorter  legs. 

His  skin  is  without  hair,  but  so  thick  and  hard, 
9 


as  to  be  almost  impenetrable;  it  is  so  full  of 
SCI  atches  and  scabs,  that  at  a  distance  they  may 
well  be  taken  for  scales. 

On  his  nose  he  has  a  horn  of  a  dark  brown  co- 
lour, which  bends  backward,  and  is  often  two  f^et 
long ;  he  has  another  horn  a  little  above  this,  which 
never  exceeds  six  inches. 

His  eyes  are  exceedingly  small,  and  he  only 
sees  straight  forward  ;  therefore,  he  always  runs  in 
a  straight  line,  tearing  up  those  things  which  op- 
pose or  stand  in  Jiis  way. 

With  his  horn  he  throws  stones  over  his  head 
to  a  great  distance,  and  even  tears  up  trees  by  the  ^ 
roots.  "* 

He  grunts  like  a  hog  ;  but  when  he  pursues  his 
prey,  he  makes  a  terrible  noise.  He  feeds  much 
on  the  boughs  of  such  trees  as  are  thick  set  with 
strong  and  tough  thorns ;  but  he  prefers  the  flesh 
of  animals  when  they  come  in  his  way. 

He  has  a  natural  antipathy  to  the  elephant,  which 
plpxes  all  his  safety  in  flighi.  He  seldom  attacks 
a  man  unless  he  is  dressed  in  red,  a  colour  to  which 
he  has  a  great  aversion. 

When  he  overtakes  him,  he  lifts  him  by  his 
horn,  and  throws  him  over  his  head  with  such 
violence  as  breaks  his  bones ;  so  that  he  never 
fails  to  find  him  dead  when  he  comes  to  devour 
him. 

The  usual  method  of  taking  this  animal,  is  in 
pits  dug  in  the  paths  by  which  he  goes  to  drink, 
and  covered  with  branches,  grass,  &c* 


97 


The  Spherical  form  of  our  Earth, 

Many  people  fancy  ihe  earth  an  even  plane, 
a  round  flat  surface;  but  if  that  were  the  case, 
the  exterior  limits  of  this  surface  would  be  found 
out ;  and  in  approaching  any  place,  we  should  not 
'see  the  tops  of  towers  and  mountains  before  the 
lower  parts  of  them. 

The  earth,  then,  must  be  a  globe ;  but  it  is  not 
exactly  and  stricHy  spherical,  for  it  is  a  little  more 
raised  under  the  line,  and  flatter  towards  the  poles, 
nearly  resembling  an  orange. 

But  that  deviation  from  a  circular  form  is  veiy 
inconsiderable,  at  the  most  only  thirty-five  miles, 
which  is  scarcely  perceptible  in  a  globe  whose 
circumference  is  twenty-five  thousand  miles ;  and 
the  diameter  seven  thousand  nine  hundred  and 
fifty-seven. 

There  will  be  no  doubt  of  tlie  form  of  the  earth 
being  nearly  spherical,  if  we  (consider,  that  in  the 
eclipses  of  the  moon,  the  shadow  which  the  earth 
casts  on  that  planetis  always  round. 

Besides,  if  the  earth  were  not  round,  how  could 
they  have  circumnavigated  it,  or  how  should  the 
stars  rise  and  set  sooner  in  the  eastern  than  in  the 
western  countries  ?  Here  again,  is  the  wisdom  of 
the  Creator  manifest. 

The  form  he  has  given  to  the  earth  is  the  most 
proper  and  convenient  for  a  world  like  ours,  and 
for  its  inhabitants.  Light  and  heat,  so  necessary 
for  the  preservation  of  creatures,  are  by  this 
means  equally  and  uniformly  distributed  over  the 
whole  earth.     From  thence,  also,    proceed    the 


98 

daily  and  annual  returns  of  night  and  day,  heat 
and  cold,  &c. 

The  water  is  equally  distributed  over  the  globe,, 
and  the  salutary  use  of  the  winds  is  felt  in  every 
part  of  the  earth.  We  should  be  deprived  of  all 
these  advantages,  if  our  earth  had  any  other  form. 
In  some  countries  it  would  be  a  paradise,  in  others 
a  chaos  ;  one  part  of  it  would  be  swallowed  up  in 
water,  the  other  burnt  up  by  the  heat  of  the  sun. 

In  certain  countries,  they  would  be  exposed  to 
furious  tempests,  which  would  destroy  every  thing, 
while  they  would  be  stifled  in  other  places  by  the 
want  of  air,  the  current  of  which  would  be  nearly 
stopped. 

One  part  of  the  earth  would  enjoy  the.  benign 
influence  of  the  sun,  while  the  other  would  be  fro- 
zen with  cold.  What  pride  and  ignorance  we 
should  betray,  if  we  did  not  acknowledge  in  this, 
the  hand  of  an  Almighty  and  benevolent  Creator ! 
Should  we  deserve  to  inhabit  a  world,  where  all  is 
so  wisely  ordained,  if,  like  the  brutes,  we  were 
insensible  to  this  admirable  plan,  and  the  number 
less  blessings  which  accrue  from  it  ? 


Of  the  Camel, 

Another  native  of  the  East  Indies  is  the  camel, 
one  of  the  most  serviceable  creatures  in  the  world. 
He  kneels  down  to  receive  his  burdens,  and  when 
he  has  his  accustomed  load,  gets  upon  his  feet 
again ;  but  if  he  feels  himself  overburdened  he 
will  not  rise,  but  cry  till  part  of  it  is  taken  off. 


99 

One  of  them  will  carry  ten  or  twelve  hundred 
weight,  forty  miles  a  day,  for  thirty  or  forty  days 
together.  They  have  no  teeth  in  the  upper  jaw. 
They  will  travel  forty  hours  without  either  meat 
or  drink,  and  nine  days  without  drink  ;  they  have 
two  stomachs  admirably  contrived  for  this  purpose. 
A  person  who  dissected  one  at  Paris,  found  in  his 
second  stomach  several  square  holes,  which  were 
the  moutlis  of  about  twenty  cavities,  like  bags, 
placed  between  the  two  membranes  which  com- 
pose the  substance  of  the  stoma^'ii. 

In  these  receivers,  he  has  enough  water  to  serve 
him  for  so  many  days.  The  hunch  on  his  back 
is  not  flesh,  much  less  bone,  but  mere  hair;  for 
when  this  is  pressed  close  down  he  is  no  more 
hunch-backed  than  a  swine. 

They  subsist  on  very  fittle,  which  enables  them 
to  travel  through  those  vast  and  barren  deserts. 
How  wise  is  he  who  caused  these  to  be  natives 
of  those  countries,  where  such  creatures  are  ab- 
solutely necessary  !  A  farther  instance  of  this  is, 
that  the  African  camel,  which  has  still  greater  and 
more  rough  journeys  to  take,  is  larger  and  stronger, 
and  capable  of  carrying  heavier  burdens  than  those 
of  Asia. 

Another  wonderful  property  in  camels  is,  that 
of  foreseeing  those  poisonous  winds,  which  kill  in 
a  moment.  .  A  little  before  these  come,  they  run 
together  and  cry,  and  hide  their  noses  in  the  earth  ; 
and  as  soon  as  they  are  past,  they  lift  uj»  their 
heads  and  continue  their  journey. 


9* 


100 


The  Two  Brothers. 

Among  the  numerous  adventurers  who  went 
to  South  America  in  pursuit  of  gold  and  silver, 
was  a  Spaniard,  whose  name  was  Pizarro,  and  who, 
hke  others,  was  anxious  to  try  his  fortune. 

As  he  had  a  great  affection  for  his  elder  bro- 
ther, he  communicated  to  him  his  design,  and 
earnestly  entreated  him  to  go  along  with  him, 
promising  to  give  him  an  equal  share  of  whatever 
the  expedifion  should  produce. 

His  brother,  whose  name  was  Alonzo,  was  a 
man  of  good  understanding  and  easy  temper.  He 
did  not  much  like  the  proposed  expedition,  and 
endeavoured  to  persuade  Pizarro  to  abandon  it, 
representing  to  him  the  certain  dangers  he  would 
have  to  encounter,  and  the  great  uncertainty  of 
success. 

However,  perceiving  that  all  arguments  were  in 
vain,  he  consented  to  accompany  him,  declaring 
at  the  same  time,  that  lie  wanted  no  part  of  the 
riches  he  might  procure,  and  only  asked  to  have 
a  few  servants  and  his  baggage  taken  on  board  ihe 
ship  with  him. 

Pizarro  then  disposed  of  all  his  effects,  pur- 
chased a  vessel,  and  embarked  with  several  other 
adventurers,  who  had  no  doubt  of  making  immense 
fortunes. 

Alonzo,  on  the  other  hand,  took  with  him  only 
a  few  ploughs,  harrows,  and  other  implements  of 
husbandry  ;  together  with  some  corn,  and  seeds  of 
different  sorts  of  vegetables. 

Though  this  conduct  appeared  very  strange  to 
Pizarro,  yet  he  took  no  notice  of  it  to  his  brother, 


101 

wishing  to  avoid  the  least  appearance  of  alterca- 
tion. 

A  prosperous  gale  wafted  them  across  the  At- 
lantic, when  they  put  into  the  last  port  they  in- 
tended to  stop  at,  till  they  should  reach  the  land  of 
gold  and  silver. 

Here  Pizarro  purchased  several  more  imple- 
ments, used  in  digging  for,  melting,  and  refining 
the  gold  he  doubted  not  of  finding,  and  also  pro- 
cured more  labourers  to  assist  him  in  the  work. 
On  the  other  hand,  Alonzo  purchased  only  a  few 
sheep,  and  four  stout  oxen,  properly  harnessed  for 
ploughing. 

From  hence  they  set  sail,  and  arrived  safe  at 
their  destined  port.  Alonzo  then  acquainted  his 
brother,  that  as  his  intentions  were  only  to  accom- 
pany and  assist  him  in  the  voyage,  he  should  stay 
»  near  the  borders  of  the  sea  with  his  servants  and 
cattle,  whilst  he  traversed  the  country  in  search 
of  gold  ;  and  as  soon  as  he  had  procured  as  much 
as  he  wanted,  he  should  be  ready  to  accompany 
him  back  to  Spain,  whenever  he  should  return  to 
the  coast. 

Pizarro  set  out  immediately,  and  though  he  said 
nothing  to  his  brother,  he  could  not  help  expressing 
his  contempt  of  him,  to  his  companions.  "  I  have 
always  been  accustomed,"  said  he  to  his  followers, 
"  to  consider  my  brother  as  a  man  of  sense ;  but 
now  I  perceive  my  mistake. 

"He  intends  to  amuse  himself  with  his  sheep 

,  and  oxen,  as  if  he  were  actually  on  his  own  farm  in 

W       Spain.     We,  however,  know  better  than  to  waste 

our  time  in  that  manner.      We  in  a  short  time, 

shall  enrich  ourselves  for  the  rest  of  our  lives." 

His  speech  was  universally  applauded,  except- 


103 

mg  by  one  Spaniard,  who,  as  he  marched  on, 
shook  his  head,  and  told  Pizarro,  that  he  probably 
might  not  find  his  brother  so  great  a  fool  as  he 
imagined. 

They  continued  their  journey  into  the  country 
for  several  days,  and  met  with  numberless  obsta- 
cles, such  as  being  obliged  to  cross  rivers,  to  as- 
cend craggy  mountains,  and  to  penetrate  almost 
impervious  forests;  sometimes  scorched  with  the 
intense  heat  of  the  sun,  and  then  soaked  by  the 
violent  rains  that  fell. 

In  spite  of  all  difficulties,  they  pursued  their 
search  for  gold,  and  luckily  at  last  came  to  a 
place  where  they  found  it  in  tolerable  quantities 
Success  inspired  them  with  courage,  and  they  con- 
tinued their  labours  on  the  spot  till  their  provisions 
were  all  expended. 

Though  they  gained  gold,  they  suffered  much 
from  hunger,  but  contented  themselves  with  hving 
on  such  roots  and  berries  as  the  earth  spontaneous- 
ly produced.  Even  this  supply  at  last  failed 
them,  and  after  losing  several  of  their  company 
by  famine  and  hardships,  the  rest  with  difficulty 
crawled  back  to  the  place  where  they  had  left 
Alonzo,  carrying  with  them  that  pernicious  gold, 
for  which  they  had  exposed  themselves  to  the  dan- 
gers of  death  in  so  many  miserable  shapes. 

In  the  mean  time,  Alonzo,  who  foresaw  all  these 
disasters,  was  employing  himself  in  a  far  more  use- 
ful manner.  His  knowledge  in  husbandry  point- 
ed out  to  him  a  spot  of  considerable  extent  and 
fruitful  soil,  which  he  ploughed  up,  by  the  assis- 
tance of  his  servants  and  the  oxen  he  had  brought 
with  him. 

He  then  committed  the  different  seeds  with 
which  he  had  furnished  himself,  to  the  bosom  oi 


103 

the  earth.  Every  thing  prospered  beyond  expecta- 
tion, and  a  plentiful  harvest  rewarded  his  toils. 
His  sheep  also  proved  prolific. 

In  the  intervals  of  time,  Alonzo  and  his  ser- 
vants employed  themselves  in  fishing ;  and  the 
fish  they  caught  they  dried  and  salted,  having 
found  salt  upon  the  sea-shore.  So  that  by  this 
time,  they  had  formed  a  tolerable  magazine  of  pro- 
visions. 

Alonzo  received  his  brother  Pizarro,  on  his  re- 
turn, v\^ith  the  utmost  respect,  and  inquired  what 
success  he  had  met  with. 

Pizarro  then  informed  him  of  the  vast  quantity 
of  gold  they  had  found,  but  that  several  of  his 
comrades  had  perished,  and  that  those  who  re- 
mained were  in  a  starving  condition. 

He  immediately  requested  his  brother  to  give 
him  something  to  eat,  as  he  had  tasted  no  other 
food  for  two  days  than  the  roots  and  barks  of 
trees. 

To  this  request  Alonzo  very  coolly  replied,  that' 
his  brother  should  remember,  that  on  their  depar- 
ture from  Europe,  they  had  agreed  not  to  interfere 
with  each  other ;  and  that,  as  he  had  relinquished 
all  pretensions  to  the  gold  they  might  discover, 
they  could  have  no  right  to  any  part  of  the  pro- 
duce of  his  labour. 

"  If  you  think  proper,"  added  Alonzo,  "  to  ex- 
change some  of  your  gold  for  provisions,  I  shall  be 
ready  to  accommodate  you." 

However  unkind  Pizarro  thought  this  behaviour 
of  his  brother,  he  and  his  companions  being  in  a 
starving  condition,  were  obliged  to  submit  to  his 
demands.  Alonzo  placed  so  high  a  value  on  his 
provisions,  that  he  soon  became  master  of  all  the 


104 

gold  they  had  collected,  merely  to  produce  them 
articles  of  subsistence. 

Alonzo  then  proposed  to  his  brother  to  embark 
for  Europe,  as  the  vessel  in  which  they  had  arrived 
at  America  was  still  in  good  condition,  and  the 
winds  and  weather  favourable. 

Pizarro,  with  a  stern,  haughty,  and  disdainful 
look,  replied,  that  since  he  had  stripped  him  of  all 
the  wealth  he  had  acquired  with  such  danger  and 
fatigue,  and  treated  him  so  unbrotherly,  he  might 
return  without  him.  As  to  himself,  he  said  he 
would  remain  upon  that  desert  shore,  and  there 
end  his  life.  Alonzo,  instead  of  resenting  this 
language,  caught  his  brother  in  his  arms,  and  thus 
addressed  him  : 

"  Is  it  possible  that  my  dear  brother  could  be  ^ 
lieve  that  I  meant  to  deprive  him  of  the  gold  he  had^ 
so  dearly  bought?  May  all  the  gold  in  the  universe 
perish,  rather  than  that  I  should  treat  you  in  such 
a  manner!  I  perceived  your  impettious  desire 
for  riches,  and  1  have  taken  this  method  to  draw 
you  from  your  attachment  to  them. 

"My  prudence  and  industry  appeared  to  you 
chimerical,  since  you  imagined  that  nothing  could 
be  wanting  to  him  who  possesses  riches :  but  you 
have  now  learned,  that  but  for  my  industry  and 
foresight,  all  the  gold  you  had  found  would  not 
have  prevented  you  and  your  followers  from 
starving. 

"I  am  willing  to  flatter  myself,  that  you  will  be 
wiser  for  the  future  ;  and  therefore  take  back  your 
gold,  and  make  a  proper  use  of  it  for  the  time  to 
come." 

This  unexpected  generosity  of  Alonzo,  filled 
Pizarro  with  astonishment  and  gratitude,  and  he 
was,  for  the  first  time,  obliged  to  confess,  that  in- 


105 

dnstry  and  prudence  were  preferable  to  gold 
They  then  embarked  for  Europe,  and,  after  an 
easy  passage,  arrived  safe  in  Spain. 

Pizarro,  during  the  voyage,  often  entreated  his 
brother  to  accept  of  one  half  of  the  gold,  which 
Alonzo  invincibly  refused,  saying,  that  he  who  can 
raise  what  is  sufficient  for  the  supply  of  his  natural 
wants,  stands  in  no  need  of  the  assistance  of  gold. 


Of  Truth  and  Sincerity, 


Truth,  in  reality,  has  all  the  advantages  of  ap- 
pearance, and  many  more.  If  the  show  of  any 
thing  be  good  for  aught,  I  am  sure  sincerity  is  bet- 
ter: for  why  does  any  man  dissemble,  or  seem  to 
be  that  which  he  is  not,  but  because  he  thinks  it 
good  to  have  sucL  .a  quality  as  he  pretends  to? 
To  counterfeit  and  dissemble,  is  to  put  on  the  ap- 
pearance of  some  real  excellence. 

Now  the  best  way  in  the  world  for  a  man  to 
seem  to  be  any  thing,  is  really  to  be  what  he  would 
wish  to  be  taken  for.  For  it  is  many  times  as 
troublesome  to  make  good  the  pretence  of  a  good 
quality,  as  to  have  it ;  and  if  any  man  have  it  not, 
it  is  ten  to  one,  but  he  is  discovered  to  want  it, 
and  then  all  his  labour  and  pains,  that  he  might 
seem  to  have  ft,  are  lost. 

There  is  something  unnatural  in  painting,  which 
a  skilful  eye  will  easily  discern  from  natural  beauty 
and  complexion. 

It  is  difficult  to  personate  and  act  a  false  part 
Jong,  for  where  truth  is  not  at  the  bottom,  nature 


106 

will  always  be  endeavouring  to  return,  and  wiR 
peep  out  and  betray  herself  at  one  time  or  another 
Therefore,  if  any  person  think,  it  convenient  to 
seem  good,  let  such,  an  one  be  so  indeed,  and  then 
his  goodness  will  appear  to  every  one's  satisfaction ; 
so  that,  upon  all  acci)unts,  sincerity  is  a  part  of 
true  wisdom. 


•  Of  the  Hurricane. 

The  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  many  islands  in 
the  West  Indies,  are  famous  for  their  hurricanes, 
and  that  extraordinary  cloud  which  is  said  to  pro- 
duce them. 

This  cloud,  which  is  the  forerunner  of  an  ap- 
proaching hurricane,  appeal's,  when  first  seen,  like 
a  small  spot  on  the  edge  of  the  sea,  and  is  called 
by  sailors,  the  bulPs  eye,  from  being  discernible  at 
a  vast  distance,  and  appearing  so  minute.  '  \ 

During  the  time  of  its  approximation,  a  perfect 
calm  reigns  over  sea  and  land :  a  hollow  muriti^r 
is  heard  in  the  cavities  of  the  mountains,  arS^ 
beasts  and  animals,  sensible  of  its  approach,  are 
seen  running  over  the  fields,  seeking  for  shelter. 
The  cloud  gradually  grows  broador,  and  at  length 
coming  to  the  place  wliere  its  fury  is  to  fall,  it  fills 
the  whole  horizon  with  darkness. 

Nothing  can  be  more  terrible  than  its  violence 
when  it  begins,     The  houses  in  those  countries, 
which  are  maM  of  timber,  the  better  to  resist  its 
fury,  bend  to  the  blast  like  osiers,  and  again  recover 
their  rectitude. 


107 

The  sun,  which  but  a  moment  before  blazed 
with  mid-day  splendour,  is  totally  shut  out,  and  a 
midnight  darkness  prevails  ;  except  that  the  air  is 
incessantly  illuminated  with  gleams  of  lightning, 
by  which  one  might  easily  see  to  read.  The  rain 
falls  at  the  same  time  in  torrents,  and  its  descent 
has  been  likened  to  what  pours  from  our  spouts, 
even  after  a  violent  shower. 

The  hurricanes  are  no  less  offensive  to  the  sense 
of  smelling,  also ;  and  never  come  without  leaving 
a  most  noisome  stench  behind  them. 

The  first  mariners  who  visited  those  regions, 
suffered  greatly  ;  and  many  were  the  wrecks  which 
were  made  by  those  dangerous  storms ;  but  at  pre- 
sent they  escape  better,  being  made  wise  by  ex- 
perience. These  awful  winds  abound,  more  or 
less,  in  all  hot  climates. 


On  the  short  duration  of  Snow. 

We  see  the  instability  of  snow,  and  how  sud- 
denly the  heat  of  the  sun,  mild  and  damp  air,  or 
heavy  rains,  make  it  disappear.  Every  thing 
around  us  changes  its  appearance  in  a  few  hours ; 
and  there  scarce  remains  the  least  trace  of  that 
snow,  which  had  covered  the  streets,  villages,  and 
fields. 

Is  not  this  sudden  revolution  calculated  to  make 
us  reflect  on  the  uncertainty  and  vanity  of  all 
earthly  good  ?  Undoubtedly,  it  is  not  without  de- 
sign, that  nature  presents  u«  with  such  images  oi 
10 


i08 

the  frailty  of  worldly  things.  In  every  season,  in 
every  variation  that  their  return  occasions,  nature 
tells  us,  with  a  strong  and  persuasive  voice,  this 
great  truth,  All  is  vanity. 

Let  us  look  around  us ;  do  we  see  any  thing  that 
is  not  frail  and  perishable?  How  soon  are  we  de- 
prived of  the  pleasures  of  the  senses !  They  disap- 
pear when  we  have  scarce  begun  to  enjoy  them. 
We  are  often  at  sun-rise  cheerful  and  contented ; 
and  before  it  sets,  plunged  into  sorrow  and  dis- 
tress. 

Has  not  every  body  experienced,  in  the  course 
of  his  life,  how  uncertain  and  transient  the  enjoy- 
ments here  are?  The  riches  of  which  we  are  so 
proud,  make  themselves  wings  and  fly  away,  like 
an  eagle,  from  the  possessor,  when  he  flattered 
himself  most  with  a  peaceable  and  uninterrupted 
enjoyment  of  them. 

The  step  from  the  greatest  opulenSe  to  want 
and  misery,  is  often  as  sudden  as  the  coming  of  a 
thaw  after  the  severest  cold.  Even  our  lite  and 
health  are  often  as  trans jory  as  all  other  sublunary 
things. 

It  is  too  true,  however,  that  reflections  of  this 
kind  seldom  occur  to  us,  while  we  are  in  posses- 
sion of  earthly  enjoyments.  We  are  like  those 
who,  in  a  fine  winter's  morn,  venture  to  go  abroad, 
and  set  out  without  thinking  of  the  sudden  changes 
of  weather,  so  frequent  at  that  season. 

When  fortune  smiles  upon  us,  and  we  are  in 
the  midst  of  joy  and  pleasure,  we  think  we  have 
nothing  to  fear ;  and  we  do  not  consider  how  sud- 
denly the  happiest  situation  may  be  changed  into 
misery. 

And  supposing  we  have  not  hitherto  made  thi^ 
experience :    a  time  will  come.,  when  we  shall  be 


109 

convinced,  by  ourselves,  of  the  nothingness  and 
frailty  of  every  thing  here. 

To  those  who  are  at  })resent  in  the  spring  or 
summer  of  life,  winter  will  soon  come ;  and  they 
will  then  experience  how  transient  those  enjoy- 
ments are,  on  which  they  had  depended  with  so 
much  confidence.  -They  will  learn,  that  all  earth- 
ly pleasures  are  like  snow  which  dazzles  the  eye 
indeed,  but  soon  melts,  and  is  no  more. 

Snow  affords  lis  another  very  important  reflec- 
tion. It  reminds  us  of  our  weakness  and  want  of 
power.  What  could  all  the  industry,  and  all  the 
force  of  men  do,  were  they  to  undertake  to  remove 
the  ice  and  snow  from  the  ground  ? 

God  works  this  change  with  infinite  ease.  He 
bids  the  wind  blow,  and  it  thaws.  He  has  but  to 
speak  the  word,  and  our  troubles  cease. 


The  Excellence  and  Necessity  of  In- 
dustry. 

Diligence,  industry,  and  proper  improvement 
of  time,  are  material  duties  of  the  young.  To  no 
purpose  are  they  endowed  with  the  best  abilities, 
if  they  want  activity  for  exerting  them. 

Unavailing,  in  this  case,  will  be  every  direction 
that  can  be  given  them,  either  for  their  temporal 
or  spiritual  welfare.  In  youth,  the  habits  of  in- 
dustry are  most  easily  acquired;  in  youth,  the 
mcentives  to  it  are  strongest,  from  desire  and  from 
duty,  from  hope,  and  from  all  the  prospects  which 
the  beginning  of  life  affords 


no 

If,  dead  to  all  these  calls,  thou  shouldst  already 
begin  to  languish  in  slothful  ease  and  inaction,  what 
will  be  able  to  induce  thee  in  the  more  sluggish 
current  of  advancing  years  ?  Industry  is  not  only 
an  instrument  for  improvement,  but  a  foundation 
of  much  satisfaction. 

Nothing  is  more  contrary  to  the  true  enjoyment 
of  life,  than  the  relaxed  and  feeble  state  of  an 
indolent  mind.  He  who  is  a  stranger  to  industry, 
may  possess,  but  he  cannot  enjoy  ;  for  it  is  labour 
only  which  gives  a  relish  to  the  things  of  this  life. 

It  was  a  natural  and  proper  appointment  for 
man,  'Thou  shalt  get  thy  bread  by  the  sweat  of 
thy  blow.'  It  is  the  necessary  condition  of  our 
possessing  a  sound  mind  in  a  sound  body.  Sloth 
is  so  inconsistent  with  both,  that  it  is  hard  to  deter- 
mine whether  it  be  a  greater  foe  to  virtue,  or  to 
health  of  body. 

Inactive  as  it  is  in  itself,  its  effects  are  fatally 
powerful.  Though  it  appear  a  slowly  flowing 
stream,  yet  it  undermines  all  that  is  stable  and 
flourishing.  It  not  only  saps  the  foundation  of 
every  active  virtue,  but  pours  upon  us  a  deluge  of 
evils,  and,  too  often,  shameful  crimes. 

It  is  like  water  which  putrefies  by  stagnation, 
and  then  sends  up  hurtful  vapours,  and  fills  the  air 
with  deathi  Fly,  therefore,  from  idleness,  as  the 
certain  parent  both  of  guilt  and  ruin. 


Ill 


Of  the  Ichneumon, 

-^  ^ 

This  is  an  animal  of  a  \Qxy  peculig^  sort, 
is  of  the  weasel  kind,  with /a  Jonger  ana  narrouci 
body  than  a  cat,  something  .approaching  to  the 
shape  and  colour  of  a  bad^efi;    Its  nose  is  black 
and  sharp,  like  that  of  a  ferret.       -<.  ^  ;a.^; 

-  Its  legs  are  short,  and  each  of  its  ieei  has  ^e 
toes.  Its  tail  is  very  long,  and  its  teeth  and  tongue 
much  like  those  of  the  cat.  It  is  a  very  cleanly 
animal,  very  brisk  and  nimble,  and  possessed  of 
great  courage.  It  will  combat  a  dog,  and  destroy 
a  cat  by  three  bites  on  its  throat. 

But  it  is  quite  inoffensive  to  mankind,  and  is 
kept  tame  in  Egypt,  running  about  their  houses, 
destroying  all  vermin,  and  playing  tricks  like  span- 
iels. When  wild,  he  cannot  overtake  any  nimble 
animul,  but  he  makes  this  up  by  industry. 

His  legs  being  short,  he  is  not  much  seen ;  but 
he  has  a  way  of  concealing  himself  yet  more,  by 
crawling  on  his  belly  close  to  the  ground,  which 
he  does  all  day  long.  But  on  the  least  noise  (for 
ni8  nearing  is  exceedingly  quick)  he  starts  up  erect 
on  his  hind  legs. 

If  the  noise  be  made  by  any  reptile,  bird,  or 
small  beast,  he  observes  whereabouts  it  is,  then 
places  his  nose  directly  in  a  Ime  with  it,  and  be- 
gins to  move  towards  it. 

lie  is  silent  and  slow,  but  constant  in  his  ap- 
proach, often  stopping  to  hear  or  to  look  forward, 
and  know  exactly  where  his  object  is ;  when  he 
nas  approached  within  about  five  feet,  he  stops, 
and  having  taken  good  aim,  he  springs  directly 
from  the  place  on  his  prey. 
10* 


112   • 

Thus  he  deals  with  birds  and  beasts.  But  to 
serpents  he  gives  chase,  and  to  avoid  their  bite, 
always  seizes  them  by  the  neck, 

Gesner  tells  us,  that  the  Ichneumon  is  not  only 
an  enemy  to  serpents  themselves,  but  to  their  eggs 
also,  which  he  hunts  after,  and  destroys,  though  he 
does  not  feed  upon  them. 

How  merciful  is  our  great  Creator !  See  this 
animal  given  to  countries  where  those  terrible  rep- 
tiles abound !  In  all  likelihood,  they  would  other- 
wise be  uninhabitable. 


The  force  of  Custom, 

It  is  both  a  true  and  common  saying,  that '  cus- 
tom is  a  second  nature.'  It  is  able,  indeed,  to 
form  a  man  anew,  and  give  him  inclinations  and 
Capacities  altogether  different  from  those  he  was 
born  with. 

Doctor  Plot,  in  his  history  of  Staffordshire, 
tells  us  of  an  idiot,  who  happened  to  live  within 
the  sound  of  a  clock,  and  always  amused  himself 
with  counting  the  hour  of  the  day,  whenever  the 
clock  struck. 

The  clock  being  spoiled  by  some  accident,  the 
idiot  continued  to  strike  and  count  the  hour,  with- 
out the  help  of  it,  in  the  same  manner  as  when  it 
was  entire. 

Though  I  dare  not  vouch  for  the  truth  of  this 
story,  it  is  very  certain,  that  custom  has  a  mechan- 
ical effect  on  the  body,  at  the  same  time  that  it  has 
a  very  extraordinary  influence  on  the  mind. 


'      113 

Custom  makes  every  thing  pleasant  to  us.  Sir 
Francis  Bacon  observes,  in  his  Natural  Philoso- 
phy, that  our  taste  is  never  better  pleased,  than 
with  those  things  which  were  at  first  unpalatable. 

He  gives  particular  instances  of  claret,  coffee, 
and  other  liquors  which  the  palate  seldom  ap- 
proves on  the  first  taste ;  but  when  it  has  once  got 
a  relish  of  them,  it  generally  retains  it  for  life. 

The  mind  is  constituted  after  the  same  manner ; 
and,  after  having  habituated  itself  to  any  particular 
exercise  or  employment,  not  only  loses  its  first 
aversion  to  it,  but  conceives  a  certain  fondness  and 
affection  for  it. 

I  would,  therefore,  recommend  to  every  one, 
that  admirable  precept  which  Pythagoras  is  said 
to  have  given  to  his  disciples;  "Pitch  upon  that 
course  of  life  which  is  the  most  excellent,  and  cus- 
tom will  render  it  the  most  delightful."  Men 
whose*  circumstances  will  permit  them  to  choose 
their  own  way  of  life,  are  inexcusable,  if  they  do 
not  pursue  that  which  their  judgment  tells  them  is 
the  most  laUdable. 

Since  custom  is  a  second  nature,  we  must  gain 
habits  of  virtue  in  this  life,  if  we  would  enjoy  the 
pleasures  of  the  next.  The  state  of  bliss  we  call 
heaven,  will  not  be  capable  of  affecting  those  minds 
which.are  not  thus  qualified  for  it. 

We  must  in  this  world  get  a  relish  for  truth  and 
virtue,  if  we  would  wish  to  taste  that  knowledge 
and  perfection  which  are  to  make  us  happy  in  the 
next. 

The  seeds  of  those  joys  and  pleasures,  which 
are  to  rise  up  and  Mourish  in  the  soul  to  all  eter- 
nity, must  be  planted  during  the  present  state  of 
probation.  In  short,  heaven  is  the  natural  effect 
of  a  religious  life,  as  well  as  the  reward  of  it. 


114 


Of  the  Tides, 


^  The  motions  of  the  sea  effectually  destroy  a 
great  number  of  the  viler  sort  of  creatures.  Its 
currents  and  its  tides  produce  continual  agitations, 
the  shock  of  which  they  are  not  able  to  endure ; 
the  parts  of  the  fluid  rub  against  each  other,  and 
destroy  all  bad  humours ;  and  the  ocean,  if  I  may 
so  speak,  acquires  health  by  exercise. 

The  most  obvious,  and  the  most  generally  ac- 
knowledged motion,  is  that  of  its  tides.  This  ele- 
ment is  observed  to  flow,  for  certain  hours,  from 
south  to  north;  in  which  flux  of  motion,  which 
lasts  about  six  hours,  the  sea  gradually  swells ;  so 
that,  entering  the  mouths  of  rivers,  it  drives  back 
the  river  waters  to  their  heads. 

After  a  continual  flow  for  six  hours,  the  sea 
seems  to  rest  for  a  quarter  of  an  hoilr,  and  then 
begins  to  ebb,  or  retire  back  again,  from  north  to 
south,  for  six  hours  more ;  in  which  time  the  wa- 
ters sinking,  the  rivers  resume  their  natural  course. 

After  a  seeming  pause  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
the  sea  again  begins  to  flow  as  before :  and  thus  it 
has  alternately  risen  and  fallen  twice  a  day,  since 
the  first  time  it  was  formed.  This  amazing  ap- 
pearance did  not  fail  to  excite  the  curiosity,  as  it 
did  the  wonder,  of  the  ancients. 

After  some  wild  conjectures  of  the  earliest  sa- 
ges, it  became  well  known  about  the  time  of  Pliny, 
that  the  tides  were  under  an  influence,  in  a  small 
degree,  of  the  sun ;  but  in  a  much  greater,  of  the 
moon. 


115 

Though  others  have  endeavoured,  with  tolera- 
ble success,  to  explain  this  wonderful  fact ;  yet  it 
never  was  precisely  described  before  the  famous 
Newton. 

Thus,  as  well  as  governing  the  day  and  the  night, 
according  to  the  Divine  appointment,  these  two 
great  lights  serve  other  grand  purposes,  particu- 
larly the  latter  luminary,  in  the  motion  of  the  sea, 
that  great  watery  world. 


Use  of  Vegetables. 


When  I  consider  the  great  number  and  va- 
riety of  vegetables,  1  discover  in  this  circumstance, 
as  in  every  thing  else,  the  beneficent  views  of  my 
Creator. 

What,  indeed,  could  he  propose  by  covering  the 
earth  with  so  many  different  herbs,  plants,  and 
fruits,  but  for  the  advantage  and  happiness  of  his 
creatures?  They  already  reckon  above  thirty 
thousand  species  of  plants,  and  new  discoveries 
are  continually  increasing  the  number. 

Their  increase  is  almost  infinite.  For  example, 
who  would  not  be  astonished  that  a  grain  of  Wheat 
should  produce  two  thousand  others,  and  that  a 
single  seed  of  poppy  should  multiply  to  such  a  de- 
gree, that  in  two  or  three  years,  a  whole  field  might 
be  sowed  with  it. 

Can  we  suppose  that  God  had  not  the  advan- 
tage of  his  creatures  m  view,  when  he  ordained 


116 

this  prodigious  increase- of  plants  ?  There  can  re- 
main no  doubt  of  the  Creator's  intention,  if  we 
consider  the  use  made  of  vegetables  from  the  re- 
motest times. 

Do  not  plants  and  fruits  furnish  us  every  day 
with  the  most  wholesome  and  nourishing  food? 
Do  we  not  mostly  owe  our  clothes,  houses,  and 
furniture  to  the  vegetable  world  ? 

There  is  no  part  of  plants  that  has  not  its  use. 
The  roots  furnish  medicaments ;  they  serve  for 
food  and  fuel :  to  make  pitch,  dies,  and  all  sorts 
of  utensils.  Of  wood  they  make  coal,  buildings, 
fires,  niedicihe,  paper,  dies,  and  a  vast  number  of 
instruments. 

The  bark  even  has  its  utility  in  medicine,  in 
tanning,  &c.  The  ashes  serve  to  manure  and  im- 
prove the  ground,  to  bleach  cloth,  to  make  salt- 
petre, and  they  make  use  of  potashes  in  dying. 

They  make  use  of  turpentine  in  medicine ;  hard 
rosin  to  varnish,  to  solder.  Flowers  please  and 
delight,  both  by  their  colour  and  smell.  They 
serve  as  medicine,  and  are  particularly  useful  in 
furnishing  bees  with  wax  and  honey. 

The  fruits  which  ripen  by  degrees,  serve  for  our 
food,  and  are  eaten  either  raw,  baked,  dried,  or 
preserved.  But  vegetables  are  not  for  the  use  of 
man  alone :  they  are  of  still  greater  use  to  animals, 
most  of  which  have  no  other  .food. 

The  reason  there  are  so  many  fields,  and  so 
great  a  variety  of  herbs  and  plants,  is,  that  all  the 
different  animals  may  find  their  proper  food.  Who 
can  reckon  all  the  blessings  the  vegetable  world 
affords  us '( 


117 


An  Evening  Contemplation, 

Being  yesterday,  about  sun-set,  walking  in  the 
open  fields,  till  the  night  insensibly  fell  upon 
me,  I  at  first  amused  myself  with  all  the  richness 
and  variety  of  colours,  which  appeared  in  the 
western  parts  of  the  firmament :  in  proportion  as 
thej  faded  and  went  out,  several  stars  and  planets 
arose,  one  after  another,  till  the  whole  expanse 
was  in  a  glow. 

The  blueness  of  the  ether  was  exceedingly 
heightened  and  enlivened  bv  the  season  of  the 
year,  and  by  the  rays  of  all  those  luminaries  that 
passed  through  it.  That  space  called  the  milky 
way,  appeared  in  its  most  beautiful  white. 

To  complete  the  scene,  the  full  moon  rose  at 
length,  in  clouded  majesty,  and  opened  to  the  eye 
a  new  picture  of  nature,  which  was  more  finely 
shaded,  and  disposed  among  softer  lights,  than 
that  which  the  sun  had  before  discovered  in  the 
day. 

As  I  was  thus  surveying  the  moon,  walking  m 
her  brightness,  and  taking  her  progress  among  the 
constellations,  a  thought  arose  in  me,  which  I  be- 
fieve  very  often  has  disturbed  men  of  very  serious 
and  contemplative  minds. 

We  find  David  himself  had  fallen  into  it,  by  that 
reflection,  "When  I  consider  the  heavens,  the 
work  of  thy  hand,  the  moon  and  the  stars  which 
thou  hast  ordained;  what  is  man  that  thou  art 
mindful  of  him,  and  the  son  of  man  that  thou  re- 
gardest  him  ?" 


118 

From  these,  and  such  like  reflections,  1  could 
not  but  look  upon  myself  as  a  very  insignificant 
creature,  in  "the  immensity  of  the  works  of  God 
with  great  cause  and  belief  of  astonishment  that  1 
was  also  the  object  of  his  general  and  special 
providence. 


Of  the  Bottom  of  the  Sea, 

Though  the  bottom  of  the  ocean  is,  in  some 
places,  a  plane,  in  some  very  hollow,  like  a  valley, 
in  others  variegated  with  hill  and  dale,  as  on  land  ; 
yet  some  parts  are  very  frightful,  as  appears  from 
the  following  account. 

It  is  told  by  Kircher,  that  in  the  time  of  Frede- 
rick, king  of  Sicily,  there  lived  a  celebrated  diver, 
whose  name  was  Nicholas,  and  who,  from  his 
amazing  skill  in  swimming,  and  perseverance  un- 
der water,  was  surnamed  the  Fish. 

The  curiosity  of  this  king  had  long  been  exeited, 
by  the  accounts  he  had  heard  of  the  bottom  of  the 
gulf  of  Charybdis;  and  he  conceived  that  it 
would  be  a  proper  opportunity  to  have  more  cer- 
tain information,  by  getting  Nicholas  to  take  a 
view  of  it. 

He  therefore  commanded  our  poor  diver  to  ex- 
amine the  bottom  of  this  dangerous  whirlpool; 
and,  as  an  excitement  to  his  obedience,  he  ordered 
a  golden  cup  to  be  flung  into  it. 

Nicholas,  though  not  insensible  of  the  danger, 
yet  influenced  by  various  motives,  soon  jumped 


119 

into  the  gulf,  and  was  instantly  swallowed  up  in  its 
bosom. 

He  continued  a  long  while  under  the  water, 
during  which  time  the  king  and  his  attendants  re- 
mained on  tlie  shore,  anxious  to  see  what  would 
become  of  him ;  when,  to  their  great  surprise,  he 
appeared  buffeting  upon  the  surface,  holding  the 
cup  in  triumph  in  one  hand,  and  making  his  way 
good  among  the  waves  with  the  other. 

It  may  be  supposed,  he  was  received  with  great 
applause,  upon  his  arrival  on  shore ;  the  (fup  was 
made  the  reward  of  his  adventure  :  the  king  order- 
ed him  to  be  taken  proper  care  of,  and  as  he  was 
weary  and  overcome  by  his  labour,  after  a  heaity 
meal,  he  was  put  to  bed,  and  permitted  to  refresh 
himself  further  by  sleep.^ 

Having  been  restored  to  his  usual  vigour,  he  was 
brought  to  the  king,  to  give^  narrative  of  the  won- 
ders he  had  seen  :  and  after  observing,  he  would 
never  have  obeyed  the  king's  command,  if  he  had 
known  half  the  danger ;  his  account  was  to  the  fol- 
lowing effect. 

There  were  four  things,  he  said,  that  rendered 
the  gulf  terrible,  not  only  to  men,  but  to  the  fishes 
themselves :  fii-st,  the  force  of  the  waters  bursting 
up  from  the  bottom,  which  requires  great  strength 
to  resist :  secondly,  the  abruptness  of  the  rocks, 
that  on  every  side  threatened  sudden  ruin  :  third- 
ly, the  force  of  the  whirlpool  dashing  against  the 
rocks :  and  fourthly,  the  number  and  magnitude  of 
polypus  fish,  some  of  which  appeared  as  large  as 
a  man ;  and  which,  eve»-y  where  sticking  against 
the  rocks,  projected  their  fibrous  arms  to  entangle 
him. 

Being  asked  how  he  was  able  so  readily  to 
find  the  cup,  he  replied,  that  it  happened  to  be 
11 


120 

thrown  by  the  waves  into  the  cavity  of  a  rock 
against  which  he  himself  was  forced  in  his  de- 
scent. 

This  account,  however,  did  not  satisfy  the 
king's  curiosity.  Being  requested  to  venture  once 
more  into  the  g'llf  for  further  discoveries,  he  at 
first  refused :  but  the  king  being  desirous  of  hav- 
ing the  most  exact  information  possible  of  all  things 
to  be  found  in  the  gulf,  repeated  his  solicitations, 
and  to  give  them  still  greater  weight,  produced  a 
larger  cup  than  the  other,  and  added  also  a  purse 
of  gold. 

Upon  these  considerations,  the  unhappy  Nicho- 
las once  more  plunged  into  the  whirlpool,  and  was 
never  heard  of  more. 

The  above  not  only  sets  forth  the  dreadful  ap- 
pearance of  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  but  serves  as  a 
lesson  of  virtue,  to  repress  our  presumption  and 
thirst  after  gold. 


The  Change  of  Seasons, 

In  the  warmest  climates,  as  well  as  in  the  cold- 
est, there  are  but  two  seasons  of  the  year  really 
different.  The  coldest  countries  have  summer 
about  four  months,  during  which  the  heat  is  very 
great,  occasioned  by  the  length  of  the  days. 

Their  winter  lasts  eight  months.  Spring  and 
autumn  are  scarcely  perceptible  there;  because, 
in  a  very  few  days,  an  extreme  heat  succeeds  an 
extreme  cold;    and,  on  the  contrary,   the  great 


121 

heats  are  immediately  followed  by  the  most  severe 
cold. 

The  hottest  countries  have  a  dry  and  burning 
season  for  seven  or  eight  months.  Afterwards 
comes  rain,  which  lasts  four  or  five  months;  and 
this  rainy  season  makes  the  difference  between  the 
summer  and  winter. 

It  is  only  in  temperate  climates  that  there  are 
four  seasons  really  different  in  the  year.  The 
summer  heats  gradually  decrease ;  so  that  the  au- 
tumnal fruits  have  time  to  ripen  by  degrees,  witli- 
out  being  hurt  by  the  cold  of  winter. 

In  the  same  manner,  in  spring,  the  plants  have 
time  to  shoot,  and  grow  insensibly,  without  being 
destroyed  by  late  frosts,  or  too  much  hastened  by 
early  heats.  In  Europe,  these  four  seasons  are 
most  perceptible :  and  particularly  in  Italy,  and  in 
the  south  of  France. 

If  the  melted  snow  and  rain  remained  on  the 
ground  without  evaporating,  the  water  would  an- 
nually rise  to  the  height  of  a  foot  and  three  quar- 
ters in  most  countries.  This  change  of  season  de- 
serves our  admiration. 

It  cannot  be  attributed  to  chance ;  for  in  fortui- 
tous events  there  can  neither  be  order  tior  con- 
stancy. Now,  in  every  country  throughout  the 
world,  the  seasons  succeed  each  other  with  the 
same  regularity  as  the  nights  and  days,  and  change 
the  appearance  of  the  earth,  nearly  at  the  usual 
time. 

We  see  it  successively  adorned,  sometimes  with 
herbs  and  leaves,  sometimes  with  flowers,  some- 
times with  fruit.  Afterwards  it  is  stripped  of  all 
its  ornaments,  till  spring  returns. 

Spring,  summer,  and  autumn,  provide  food  for 
men  and  animals,  in  giving  them  abundance  of 


122 

fruits.  And  though  nature  appears  dead  in  winter, 
that  season  is  not  without  its  blessings;  for  it 
moistens  and  fertilizes  the  earth,  and  by  that  pre- 
paration, makes  it  fit  to  produce  its  plants  and 
fruits  in  due  season. 

As  the  seasons  succeed  in  nature,  so  do  they  in 
the  course  of  our  lives ;  but  with  this  difference, 
that  those  which  are  past,  never  return. 


Of  the  Chimpanze,  SfC, 

The  Chimpanze  is  an  animal  found  in  Angola, 
in  Africa.  It  nearly  approaches  the  human  figure  ; 
but  it  is  of  a  fierce  disposition,  and  remarkably 
mischievous. 

In  the  year  1738,  one  of  these  creatures  was 
brought  to  England.  It  was  about  twenty  months 
old.  It  walked  erect,  was  not  hairy  on  all  parts 
of  the  body,  like  those  of  the  monkey  species,  and 
was  of  a' strong  muscular  make. 

It  would  eat  any  coarse  food,  but  was  very  fond 
of  tea,  which  it  drank  out  of  a  cup,  with  milk  and 
sugar,  as  people-  in  England  do.  It  slept  in  the 
manner  of  the  human  species,  and  its  voice  resem- 
bled ours  when  w^  speak  hastily,  but  without  dis- 
tinct or  articulate  sounds. 

Tlie  female  generally  grows  to  about  five  feet 
high  :  the  males  larger,  are  very  bold,  and  will  fight 
a  man,  though  he  is  armed. 

There  is  a  great  variety  of  the  monkey  kind. 
There  is   a  remarkable   sort  in  the  West-Indies, 


123 

of  the  size  of  a  fox.  Its  face  is  raised  high,  its 
eyes  black  and  shining,  and  its  ears  small  and 
round. 

Its  hairs  are  so  nicely  disposed  all  over  the 
body,  that  it  appears  perfectly  smooth ;  and  are 
much  longer  under  the  chin,  so  that  they  form  a 
kind  of  beard  there.  These  are  found  in  great 
numbers  in  the  woods,  and  make  a  loud  and  fright- 
ful noise.  But  it  is  very  common  for  one,  only,  to 
make  a  noise,  and  the  rest  to  form  a  mute  assembly 
round  him. 

Marcgrave  says,  "  I  have  frequently  seen  great 
numbers  of  them  meeting  about  noon,  at  which 
time  they  formed  a  circle,  and  one  placing  himself 
above  the  rest,  began  to  make  a  loud  noise. 

"  When  he  had  thus  proceeded  by  himself  for 
some  time,  the  rest  all  remaining  silent,  he  lifted 
up  his  hand,  and  they  all  immediately  joined  in  a 
sort  of  chorus. 

"  This  intolerable  yell  continued  till  the  same 
monkey  who  gave  the  signal  for  their  beginning, 
lifted  up  his  hand  a  second  time :  on  this,  they  were 
all  silent  again,  and  so  finished  the  business  of  the 
assembly." 


Of  Whirlpools, 

The  number  of  currents  at  sea  are  impossible 
to  be  recounted;  nor,  indeed,  are  they  always 
known  ;  new  ones  are  daily  produced,  by  a  variety 
of  causes,  and  as  quickly  disappear.  When  a 
regular  current  is  opposed  by  another  in  a  nar- 
11* 


124 

row  strait,  or  where  the  bottom  of  the  sea  is  un- 
even, a  whirlpool  is  often  formed. 

These  were  formerly  considered  as  formi- 
dable obstructions  to  navigation  ;  and  the  ancient 
poets  and  historians  speak  of  them  with  terror. 
They  are  described  as  swallowing  up  ships,  and 
dashing  them  against  the  rocks,  at  the  bottom  : 
imagination  helping,  with  her  invention,  to  paint 
them  more  dreadful. 

But  it  is  certain,  that  some  of  these  whirlpools 
are  very  dangerous,  where  the  tides  are  strong, 
and  the  tempests  fierce.  To  mention  only  one, 
called  Maelstroom,  upon  the  coast  of  Norway, 
which  is  considered  as  the  most  dreadful  and  de- 
vouring in  the  world. 

The  name  it  has  received  from  the  natives,  sig- 
nifies the  navel  of  the  sea,  since  they  suppose  that 
a  great  share  of  the  water  of  the  sea  is  sucked  up 
and  discharged  by  the  whirlpool. 

A  particular  description  of  the  internal  parts  is 
not  to  be  expected,  since  none  who  unhappily  got 
in  there,  returned  back  to  give  information. 

The  body  of  the  waters  that  form  this  whirlpool, 
is  extended  in  a  circle  above  thirteen  miles  in  cir- 
cumference. In  the  midst  of  this,  stands  a  rock, 
against  which  the  tide,  in  its  ebb,  is  dashed  with  in- 
conceivable fury.  At  this  time  it  instantly  swal- 
lows up  every  thing  that  comes  within  its  power ; 
trees,  timber,  and  shipping. 

No  skill  in  the  mariner,  nor  strength  in  rowing, 
can  work  an  escape;  the  sailor  at  the  helm,  or 
guide  of  the  vessel,  finds  her  go,  at  first,  in  a  current 
opposite  to  his  intentions;  his  vessel's  motion, 
though  slow  in  the  beginning,  becomes  every  mo- 
ment more  rapid ;  it  goes  round  in  circles,  still  nar- 
rower and  narrower,  till  at  last  it  is  dashed  against 


125 

the  rocks,  and  instantly  disappears ;  nor  is  it  seen 
again  for  six  hours,  till  the  tide  flowing,  it  is  vom- 
ited forth  with  the  same  violence  with  which  it  was 
drawn  in. 

The  noise  of  this  dreadful  whirlpool,  still  fur- 
ther contributes  to  increase  its  terror,  which,  with 
the  dashing  of  the  waters,  and  the  dreadful  valley, 
if  it  may  be  so  called,  caused  by  their  circulation, 
makes  one  of  the  most  terrible  objects  in  nature. 


The  Wisdom  of  Early  Piety, 


As  soon  as  we  are  capable  of  reflection,  we 
must  perceive,  that  there  is  a  right  and  a  wrong  in 
human  actions.  We  see,  that  those  who  are  born 
with  the  same  worldly  advantages,  are  not  all 
equally  happy,  or  even  prosperous  in  the  course  of 
life. 

While  some  of  them,  by  wise  and  steady  con- 
duct, attain  distinction  among  the  virtuous  of  man- 
kind, and  pass  their  days  with  comfort  and  re- 
spect ;  others  of  the  same  rank,  by  mean  and  vi- 
cious behaviour,  forfeit  the  advantage  of  their 
birth,  plunge  themselves  into  much  misery,  and 
end  in  being  a  disgrace  to  their  friends,  and  a  bur- 
den on  society. 

Early,  then,  we  may  learn,  that  it  is  not  on  the 
outward  condition  in  which  we  find  ourselves 
placed,  but  on  the  part  which  we  are  to  act,  that 


126 

our  welfare  or  happiness — our  respect  among  men, 
or  infamy,  depends. 

Now,  in  the  beginning  of  life,  what  can  be  of 
greater  moment,  than  to  regulate  our  conduct 
with  the  most  serious  attention,  before  we  have 
yet  committed  any  shameful  and  irretrievable 
errors? 

If,  instead  of  cultivating  the  mind  for  this  valua- 
ble purpose,  we  deliver  ourselves  up,  at  so  pre- 
carious a  time,  to  sloth  and  pleasure  ;  if  we  Re- 
fuse to  listen  to  any  counsellor  but  humour,  or  to 
attend  to  any  pursuit,  but  that  of  amusement ;  if 
we  allow  ourselves  to  float  loosely  and  carelessly 
on  the  tide  of  life,  ready  to  receive  any  direction 
which  the  current  of  fashion  may  happen  to  give 
us,  what  can  we  expect  to  follow,  from  such  a  be- 
ginning ? 

While  so  many  around  us  are  undergoing  the 
sad  consequence  of  such  indiscretion,  for  what 
reason  should  not  these  consequences  extend  to  us? 
Shall  happiness  grow  up  to  us  of  its  own  accord, 
and  solicit  our  acceptance,  when  to  the  rest  of 
mankind,  it  is  the  fruit  of  long  cultivation,  and  the 
acquisition  of  labour  and  care  ? 

O,  then,  let  us  remember  our  Creator  in  the 
days  of  our  youth,  being  fully  assured  that  no  good 
can  be  done,  which  does  not  proceed  from  his  gra- 
cious self;  yet,  seeing  that  without  we  exert  our 
minds  and  hearts  towards  him,  which  in  scripture 
is  called  occupying  the  talent,  we  shall  not  partake ' 
of  his  goodness ;  let  us,  in  the  inward  name  of  his 
Son,  be  faithful  and  given  up  to  serve  him  :  so  shall 
we  not  only  ensure  to  ourselves  what  happiness  is 
best  for  us  in  this  life,  but  full  peace  and  glory  in] 
that  which  is  to  come. 


127 


The  Shipwreck 

Spitsbergen  is  a  far  northern  country,  which 
is  perpetually  covered  with  ice  and  snow,  owing 
to  the  severity  of  the  weather. 

The  soil  is  hardly  capable  of  producing  any 
vegetables;  and  only  a  few  animals  are  found  in 
the  country.  The  island  is,  a  great  part  of  the 
year,  in  perpetual  darkness,  and  is  at  that  time  in- 
accessible to  ships. 

Though  it  is  impossible  to  form  to  the  mind  a 
more  dreary  country,  and  where  human  life  must 
be  supported  with  the  greatest  difficulty ;  yet,  in 
spite  of  all  these  obstacles,  four  men  struggled 
with  them  six  years,  and  three  of  them  returned 
safe  to  their  own  country. 

The  northern  seas,  owing  to  the  excessive  cold 
of  the  climate,  are  frequently  so  full  of  ice  as  to 
render  it  exceedingly  hazardous  to  ships,  which 
are  thereby  exposed  to  the  danger  of  being  crush- 
ed between  two  immense  bodies  of  ice,  or  of  being 
so  completely  surrounded,  as  to  deprive  them  of 
every  power  of  moving  from  the  spot. 

In  this  latter  alarming  situation,  were  the  crew 
of  a  Russian  ship.  A  council  was  immediately 
held,  when  the  mate  mentioned  what  he  recollected 
to  have  heard,  that  a  ship's  crew  from  Mesen,  some 
time  before,  had  formed  a  resolution  of  passing 
the  winter  upon  this  island,  and  for  that  purpose 
had  carried  timber  proper  for  building  a  hut  at  a 
little  distance  from  the  shore. 

This   information   led    the   whole   company   to 


128 

form  the  resolution  of  wintering  there,  should  the 
hut  be  fortunately  remaining. 

They  were  induced  to  adopt  this  measure  from 
the  certainty  of  perishing,  should  they  remain  in 
the  ship.  They  therefore  deputized  four  of  their 
crew  to  go  in  search  of  the  hut,  and  make  what 
further  discoveries  they  could.  These  were  Alexis 
Himkof,  the  mate,  Iwam  Himkof,  his  grandson, 
Stephen  Scharossof,  and  Feodor  Weregin. 

As  no  human  creature  inhabited  the  shore  on 
which  they  were  to  land,  it  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary  for  them  to  carry  some  provisions  with  them 
for  their  support. 

They  had  to  make  their  way  for  nearly  two 
miles  over  loose  heaps  of  ice,  which  the  water 
had  raised,  and  the  wind  had  driven  against  each 
other;   and  this  made  it  equally  difficult  and  dan- 

g^i^3US. 

From  this  consideration,  they  avoided  loading 
themselves  too  much  with  provisions,  lest  their 
weight  might  sink  them  between  the  pieces  of  ice, 
where  they  must  inevitably  perish. 

Having  previously  considered  all  these  matters, 
they  provided  themselves  only  with  a  musket  and 
powder-horn,  containing  twelve  charges  of  powder 
and  ball,  an  axe,  a  small  kettle,  a  bag  with  about 
twenty  pounds  of  flour,  a  knife,  a  tinder-box  and 
tinder,  a  bladder  filled  with  tobacco,  and  every 
man  his  wooden  pipe. 

Thus  poorly  equipped,  these  four  sailors  reach- 
ed the  island,  little  thinking, what  they  were  to 
endure  while  they  remained  oh  it. 

After  exploring  some  small  part  of  the  country, 
they  discovered  the  hut  they  were  in  pursuit  of, 
at  the  distance  of  about  an  English  mile  and  a 


129 

half  from  the  shore.  Its  length  was  thirty-six  feet, 
and  its  height  and  breadth  eighteen. 

It  consisted  of  one  room  and  a  small  antecham- 
ber, about  twelve  feet  broad,  having  two  doors, 
the  one  to  exclude  the  outer  air,  and  the  other  to 
form  a  communication  with  the  inner  room. 

Tliis  contributed  not  a  little  to  keep  the  larger 
room  warm,  when  it  was  once  heated.  They  found 
in  the  larger  room  an  earthen  stove,  constructed 
in  the  Russian  manner. 

They  rejoiced  exceedingly  at  this  discovery, 
though  they  found  the  hut  had  suffered  very  much 
from  the  severity  of  the  weather,  it  having  been 
built  a  considerable  time.  However,  they  con- 
trived to  make  it  supportable  for  that  night. 

The  next  morning  early,  they  repaired  to  the 
shore,  in  order  to  acquaint  their  comrades  with 
their  success,  and  also  to  get  from  the  vessel  such 
provisions,  ammunition,  and  other  necessaries,  as 
might,  in  some  measure,  enable  them  to  struggle 
with  the  appi-oaching  winter. 

But  what  pen  can  properly  describe  the  terrible 
situation  of  their  minds,  when  coming  to  the  place 
at  which  they  landed,  they  discovered  nothing*  but 
an  open  sea,  clear  of  all  ice,  though  but  a  day  be- 
fore it  had  covered  the  ocean ! 

During  the  night,  a  violent  storm  had  arisen, 
which  had  been  the  cause  of  this  change  of  appear, 
ance  in  the  ocean.  Whether  the  ice,  which  had 
before  surrounded  the  vessel,  being  put  into  mo- 
tion by  the  violence  of  the  winds  and  waves,  had 
crushed  the  ship  to  pieces,  or  whether  she  had 
been  carried  by  the  current  into  the  maia 
ocean,  it  was  impossible  for  them  to  determine. 
However,  they  saw  the  ship  no  more,  and  as 
she  was  never  afterwards  heard  of,  it  is  most  likely 


130 

that  she  went  to  the  bottom,  with  every  person  on 
board. 

This  dreadful  event  deprived  the  poor  unhap- 
py men  of  all  hopes  of  ever  again  seeing  their  na- 
tive country.  They  returned  to  the  hut,  and  there 
bewailed  their  deplorable  lot,  more,  perhaps,  to 
be  pitied,  than  those  who  were  buried  in  the  bosom 
of  the  deep. 

Their  thoughts  were,  of  course,  first  directed  to 
procure  subsistence,  and  to  repair  their  hut.  Their 
twelve  charges  of  powder  and  shot,  soon  procured 
them  as  many  rein-deer,  of  which  there  fortunately 
happened  to  be  many  on  the  island. 

They  then  set  about  repairing  their  hut,  and  fill- 
ed all  the  crevices,  through  which  the  air  found  its 
way,  with  the  moss  that  grew  there  in  plenty.  As 
it  was  impossible  to  live  in  that  climate  without  fire, 
and  as  no  wood  grew  upon  the  island,  they  were 
much  alarmed  on  that  account. 

However,  in  their  wanderings  over  the  beach, 
they  met  with  plenty  of  wood,  which  had  been 
driven  on  shore  by  the  waves. 

This  principally  consisted  of  the  wrecks  of 
ships ;  but  sometimes  whole  trees,  with  their  roots, 
came  on  shore,  the  undoubted  produce  of  some 
more  hospitable  clime,  which  were  washed  from 
their  native  soil  by  the  overflowing  of  rivers,  or 
some  other  accident. 

As  soon  as  their  powder  and  shot  werer  exhaust- 
ed, they  began  to  be  in  dread  of  perishing  with 
hunger ;  but  good  fortune,  and  their  own  ingenuity, 
to  which  necessity  always  gives  a  spur,  removed 
these  dreadful  apprehensions. 

Jn  the  course  of  their  traversing  the  beach,  they 
one  day  discovered  some  boards,  in  which   were., 
large  hooks  and  nails  in  abundance. 


131 

By  the  assistance  of  these,  they  made  spears 
and  arrows ;  and  from  a  yew-tree,  which  had  been 
thrown  on  shore  by  the  waves,  they  formed  plenty 
of  bows. 

With  these  weapons,  during  the  time  of  their 
continuance  on  the  island,  they  killed  upwards  of 
two  hundred  and  fifty  rein-deer,  besides  a  great 
number  of  blue  and  white  foxes. 

The  flesh  of  these  animals  served  them  for  food, 
and  their  skins  were  equally  useful  in  supplying 
them  with  warm  clothing. 

The  number  of  white  bears  they  killed,  was  only 
ten  ;  for  these  animals  being  very  strong,  defended 
themselves  with  great  vigour  and  fury;  and  even 
ventured  to  make  their  appearance,  frequently,  at 
the  door  of  their  hut,  from  whence  they  were 
driven  with  some  difficulty  and  danger. 

Thus,  these  three  different  sorts  of  animals  were 
the  only  food  of  those  miserable  mariners,  during 
their  long  and  dreary  abode  on  this  island. 

The  intenseness  of  the  cold,  and  the  want  of 
conveniences,  rendered  it  impossible  for  them  to 
cook  their  victuals  properly,  so  that  they  were 
obliged  to  eat  their  provisions  almost  raw,  and 
without  bread  or  salt.  There  was  but  one  stove 
in  the  hut,  and  that  being  in  the  Rjssian  manner, 
was  not  suitable  for  boiling. 

However,  to  remedy  this  inconvenience  as  much 
as  possible,  they  dried  some  of  their  provisions 
during  the  summer,  in  the  open  air,  and  then 
hung  them  up  in  the  upper  part  of  the  hut,  which, 
being  continually  filled  with  smoke,  they  thus  be- 
came thoroughly  dried.  This  they  used  instead  of 
bread,  which  made  them  relish  their  half-boiled 
meat  the  better. 

They  procured  their   water   in    summer,  from 
12 


132 

the  rivulets  that  fell  from  the  rocks,  and  in  the 
winter  from  snow  and  ice  thawed.  This  was  their 
only  drink,  and  their  small  kettle  was  the  only 
convenience  they  had  to  make  use  of  for  this  and 
many  other  purposes. 

As  it  was  necessary  to  keep  up  a  continual  fire, 
they  were  particularly  cautious  not  to  let  the  light 
be  extinguished ;  for  though  they  had  both  steel 
and  flints,  yet  they  had  no  tinder ;  and  it  would 
liave  been  a  terrible  thing  to  be  without  light  in  a 
climate  where  darkness  reigns  so  many  months 
during  the  winter. 

They,  therefore,  fashioned  a  kind  of  lamp,  which 
they  filled  with  rein-deer  fat,  and  stuck  into  it 
some  twisted  linen,  shaped  in  the  form  of  a  wick, 
many  trials,  they  at  last  brought  their 
to  complete  perfection,  and  kept  it  burning 
without  intermission,  from  the  day  they  first  made 
it,  till  they  embarked  for  their  native  country. 

They  also  found  themselves  in  want  of  shoes, 
boots,  and  other  necessary  articles  of  dress,  for  all 
which  they  found  wonderful  resources  in  that  ge 
nius  to  which  necessity  gives  birth. 

Having  lived  more  than  six  years  upon  this 
dreary  and  inhospitable  island,  a  ship  happened 
to  arrive  there,  which  took*  three  of  them  on 
board,  and  carried  them  back  to  their  native 
country. 

The  fourth  man  was  seized  with  the  scurvy,  and 
being  naturally  indolent,  and  not  using  proper  ex- 
ercise, he  died,  after  lingering  for  some  time,  when 
his  companions  buried  him  in  the  snow. 


133 


Of  the  Lion, 

The  Lion  seldom  attacks  any  animal  openly, 
except  when  compelled  by  extreme  hunger ;  in 
that  case,  no  danger  deters  him  ;  but  as  most  ani- 
mals endeavour  to  avoid  him,  he  is  obliged  to  have 
recourse  to  artifice,  and  take  his  prey  by  surprise. 

For  this  purpose,  he  crouches  on  his  belly,  in 
some  thicket,  where  he  waits  till  his  prey  ap- 
proaches; and  then,  with  one  prodigious  spring, 
he  leaps  upon  it,  at  the  distance  of  fifteen  or 
twenty  feet,  and  generally  seizes  it  at  the  first 
bound. 

If  he  miss  his  object,  he  gives  up  the  pursuit ; 
and,  turning  back  towards  the  place  of  his  ambush, 
he  measures  the  ground,  step  by  step,  and  again 
lies  in  wait  for  another  opportunity. 

The  lurking  place  of  the  lion  is  generally  chosen 
near  a  spring,  or  by  the  side  of  a  river ;  where  he 
frequently  has  an  opportunity  of  catching  such  ani- 
mals as  come  to  quench  their  thirst.  There  are, 
however,  instances  where  the  lion  deviates  from 
his  usual  method  of  taking  his  prey,  of  which  the 
following,  related  by  Sparrman,  is  remarkable : 

A  Hottentot,  perceiving  that  he  was  followed 
by  a  lion,  and  concluding  that  the  animal  only 
waited  the  approach  of  night  to  make  him  his 
prey,  began  to  consider  of  the  best  method  of 
providing  for  his  safety,  which  he  at  length  ef- 
fected in  the  following  singular  manner :  observ- 
ing a  piece  of  broken  ground,  with  a  precipitate 
descent  on  one  side,  he  sat  down  by  the  edge  of 


134 

It ;  and  found,  to  his  great  joy,  that  the  lion  also 
made  a  halt,  and  kept  at  the  same  distance  as  be- 
fore. 

As  soon  as  it  grew  dark,  the  Hottentot,  sliding 
gently  forward,  let  himself  down  a  little  below  the 
edge  of  the  hill,  and  held  up  his  cloak  and  hat  upon 
a  stick,  making,  at  the  same  time,  a  gentle  motion 
with  it ;  the  lion,  in  the  meanwhile,  came  creep- 
ing softly  towards  him,  like  a  cat,  and  mistaking 
the  skin-cloak  for  the  man  himself,  made  a  spring 
and  fell  headlong  down  the  precipice;  by  which 
means  the  poor  Hottentot  was  safely  delivered 
from  his  insidious  enemy. 


Of  tile  Pernicious  Effects  of  Spirituous 
Liquors. 

Vegetation  has  united  and  incorporated  in  the 
grain,  by  means  of  air  and  water,  spirituous  and 
earthy  elements,  which,  combined,  form  a  sweet 
and  nourishing  substance  ;  if  this  intimate  junc- 
tion is  destroyed,  or  resolved  by  fermentation,  the 
spirituous  part  is  separated  from  the  earthy,  which 
is  then  deprived  of  its  body,  and  is  no  longer  a 
sweet,  nourishing  substance. 

It  produces  a  spirit  which  destroys  like  fire. 
Thus  brandy  and  spirits  are  made.  A  few  hun- 
dred years  ago,  brandy  was  not  known  among  us. 
About  a  thousand  years  ago,  the  destructive  art 
of  distilling  spirits  of  wine,  from  wine,  was  found 


135 

out ;  and  it  is  three  hundred  since  brandy  was  first 
distilled  from  grain. 

In  the  beginning,  it  was  considered  as  physic: 
it  did  not,  however,  gain  any  degree  of  general 
request,  till  the  close  of  the  last  century,  or  rathf  r 
the  last  fifty  years,  that  it  has  become  an  universal 
beverage,  to  the  great  detriment  of  mankind. 

Our  forefathers,  in  former  times,  who  had  no 
idea  of  brandy,  were  quite  different  from  what  we 
are ;  they  were  much  more  healthy  and  strong. 

Brandy,  whether  drank  by  itself  or  at  meals, 
cannot  be  converted  into  blood,  flesh,  or  bone : 
consequently,  it  cannot  give  health  or  strength, 
nor  does  it  promote  digestion ;  it  only  makes  one 
unhealthy,  stupid,  lazy,  and  weak.  It  is,  there- 
fore, a  downright  falsehood,  that  brandy,  as  a 
common  beverage,  is  useful,  good,  and  neces- 
sary. 

Our  forefathers  lived  without  it ;  and  as  expe- 
rience teaches  us,  that  even  the  most  moderate 
and  most  reasonable  who  give  way  to  the  custom 
of  using  it,  drink  every  day  more  and  more  bran- 
dy ;  it  is  much  better,  in  order  to  avoid  tempta- 
tion, to  drink  none  at  all ;  for,  believe  me,  brandy 
deprives  every  body  who  addicts  himself  to  the 
immoderate  daily  use  of  it,  of  health,  reason,  and 
virtue. 

It  impels  some  to  quit  their  houses  and  homes, 
to  abandon  their  wives  and  children,  and  entails  on 
its  wretched  votaries,  misery  and  diseases,  which 
may  descend  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation. 

It  has  been  observed  in  different  countries,  in 
England,  Scotland,  Sweden,  North  America,  and 
Germany,  that  the  evils  which  health,  strength, 
reason,  virtue,  prosperity,  domestic  and  matrimo- 
nial felicity,  the  education  of  children,  humanity, 
12* 


136 

and  the  life  of  man,  has  to  encounter,  were  in  pro- 
portion to  the  quantity  of  brandy  consumed. 

It  was  this  that  induced  an  Indian,  in  North 
America,  of  the  name  of  Lackawanna,  to  say,  that 
the  brandy  which  had  been  introduced  amongst 
the  Indians,  by  the  English,  tended  to  corrupt 
mankind  and  destroy  humanity.  "They  have 
given  us  (said  he)  brandy !  and  who  has  given  it 
to  them,  (Europeans,)  who  else  but  an  evil  spirit?" 

Children  and  young  persons  who  drink  brandy, 
or  other  spirituous  liquors,  become  unhealthy, 
crippled,  stupid,  rude,  lazy,  vicious,  and  depraved, 
both  as  to  mind  and  body.  And  the  same  effects 
may  be  produced  by  taking  any  other  kind  of 
spirituous  liquors. 


Of  the  Rattlesnake. 


This  is  a  wonderful  creature,  when  we  con- 
sider his  form,  nature,  and  disposition.  It  is  cer- 
tain, that  he  is  capable,  by  a  puncture  or  scratch 
of  one  of  his  fangs,  not  only  to  kill  the  largest  ani- 
mal in  America,  and  that  in  a  few  minutes  time, 
but  to  turn  the  whole  body  into  corruption. 

But  such  is  the  nature  of  this  dreadful  reptile, 
that  he  cannot  run  or  creep  faster  than  a  man  or 
child  can  walk,  and  he  is  never  known  to  strike 
until  he  is  first  assaulted,  or  fears  himself  in  danger: 
and  even  then,  always  givea  the  earliest  warning 
by  the  rattles  at  the  extremity  of  the  tail. 


137 

I  have,  in  the  course  of  my  travels  m  the  south- 
ern states,  (where  they  are  the  largest  and  the 
most  numerous,  and  supposed  to  be  the  most  ve- 
nomous and  vindictive,)  stopped  unknowingly  so 
close  to  one  of  them  as  almost  to  touch  him  vt^ith 
my  foot,  and  when  I  perceived  him,  he  was  already 
drawn  up  in  circular  coils,  ready  for  a  blow. 

But,  however  incredible  it  may  appear,  the  ge- 
nerous, I  may  say  magnanimous  creature,  lay  as 
still  and  motionless  as  if  inanimate;  his  head 
crouched  in,  his  eyes  almost  shut. 

If  you  pursue  and  overtake  him  with  a  show  of 
enmity,  he  instantly  throws  himself  into  the  spiral 
coil ;  his  tail,  by  the  rapidity  of  its  motion,  ap- 
pears hke  a  vapour,  and  makes  a  quick  tremulous 
sound,  his  whole  body  swells  through  rage,  con- 
tinually rising  and  falling  like  a  bellows ;  his  beauti- 
ful party  coloured  skin  becomes  speckled  and 
rough  by  dilatation  :  his  head  and  neck  are  flatten- 
ed, his  cheeks  swollen,  and  his  lips  constricted, 
discovering  his  mortal  fangs ;  his  eyes  red  as  burn- 
ing coals,  and  his  brandishing  forked  tongue,  of  the 
colour  of  the  hottest  flame,  continually  menaces 
death  and  destruction,  yet  he  never  strikes  unless 
sure  of  his  mark. 

The  rattlesnake  is  the  largest  serpent  yet 
known  to  exist  in  North  America.  I  have  heard 
of  their  having  been  seen  formerly,  at  {he  first 
settling  of  Georgia,  seven,  eight,  and  even  ten  feet 
in  length,  and  six  or  eight  inches  in  diameter; 
but  there  are  none  of  that  size  now  to  be  seen : 
yet  I  have  seen  them  above  six  feet  in  length,  and 
above  six  inches  in  thickness,  or  as  large  as  a 
man's  leg,  but  their  general  size  is  four  and  five 
leet  in  length. 

They  are  supposed  to  have  the  power  of  fas- 


138 

cination  m  an  eminent  degree,  so  as  to  enthral 
their  prey.  It  is  generally  believed,  that  they 
charm  birds,  rabbits,  squirrels,  and  other  animals, 
and  by  steadfastly  looking  at  them,  possess  them 
with  infatuation :  be  the  cause  what  it  may,  the 
miserable  creatures  undoubtedly  strive  by  every 
possible  means  to  escape ;  but  alas  !  their  endea- 
vours are  in  vain,  they  at  last  lose  the  power, 
flutter  or  move  slowly,  but  reluctantly,  towards  the 
yawning  jaws  of  their  devourer,  and  creep  into  their 
mouths,  or  lie  down  and  suffer  themselves  to  be 
taken  and  swallowed. 


Worthy  of  Imitation, 

During  the  retreat  of  the  famous  king  Alfred, 
at  Athenly  in  Somersetshire,  after  the  defeat  of 
his  forces  by  the  Danes,  the  following  circumstance 
happened,  which,  while  it  convinces  us  of  the  ex- 
tremities to  which  that  great  man  was  reduced, 
will  give  us  a  striking  proof  of  his  pious  and  beii,3- 
volent  disposition. 

A  beggar  came  to  his  little  castle  there,  and  re- 
quested alms;  when  his  queen  informed  him,  that 
they  had  only  one  small  loaf  remaining,  which  was 
insufficient  for  themselves,  and  their  friends  were 
gone  abroad  in  quest  of  food,  though  with  little 
hope  of  success. 

The  king  replied,  "  Give  the  poor  Christian 
one  half  of  the  loaf.    He  that  could  feed  five  thou- 


139 

sand  men  with  five  loaves  and  two  fishes,  can  cer- 
tainly make  that  half  of  the  loaf  suffice  for  our  ne- 
cessities." 

Accordingly  the  poor  man  was  relieved,  and 
4his  noble  act  of  charity  soon  recompensed  by  a 
providential  store  of  fresh  provisions,  with  which 
his  people  returned. 

Of  all  the  singular  virtues  which  united  in  the 
character  of  Gustavus  Adolphus  of  Sweden,  that 
which  crowned  the  whole,  was  his  exemplary 
piety  to  God.  The  following  is  related  of  him 
when  he  was  in  his  camp  before  Werben. 

He  had  been  alone  in  the  cabinet  of  his  pavilion 
some  hours  together,  and  none  of  his  attendants, 
at  these  seasons,  durst  interrupt  him. 

At  length,  however,  a  favourite  of  his  having 
some  important  matter  to  tell  him,  came  softly  to 
the  door,  and  looking  in,  beheld  the  king  very  de- 
voutly on  his  knees  at  prayer.  Fearing  to  molest 
him  in  that  sacred  exercise,  he  was  about  to  turn 
his  head,  when  the  king  spied  him,  and  bidding 
him  come  in,  said, 

**Thou  wonderest  to  see  me  in  this  posture, 
since  I  have  so  many  thousands  of  subjects  to  pray 
for  me :  but  I  tell  thee,  that  no  man  has  more  need 
to  pray  for  himself,  than  he,  who  being  to  render 
an  account  of  his  actions  to  none  but  God,  is  for 
that  reason  more  closely  assaulted  by  temptation, 
than  all  other  men." 


140 


Repentance, 

# 

EusEBius,  in  his  history,  informs  us,  that  St.  John 
during  his  ministration  to  the  western  churches, 
cast  his  eye  upon  a  young  man  remarkable  for  the 
extent  of  his  knowledge,  and  the  ingenuousness  of 
his  mind. 

The  aged  apostle  thought  that  he  had  discover- 
ed in  him  an  useful  instrument  for  propagating 
Christianity :  accordingly  he  took  particular  pains 
to  convert  him,  and  instruct  him  in  the  divine  doc- 
trines of  his  great  Master ;  and  that  he  might  still 
be  better  acquainted  with  the  system  of  Christian- 
ity, at  his  departure  he  recommended  him  to  the 
care  of  a  pious  old  father,  who  had  some  authority 
in  the  infant  church. 

The  youth  continued  awhile  in  the  duties  of  his 
new  profession,  and  attended  with  care  to  the  in- 
struction of  his  venerable  tutor. 

But  his  former  associates,  when  they  found 
themselves  deserted  by  him,  were  grieved  at  the 
success  of  the  apostle,  and  exerted  «their  utmost 
efforts  to  regain  so  useful  and  entertaining  a  com- 
panion. They  succeeded  in  their  attempts :  the 
father  was  forsaken,  and  the  youth  plunged  deep 
into  irregularity  and  vice. 

The  apostle,  after  some  time,  returned  to  those 
parts ;  "  and  where,"  said  he  with  impatience  to 
his  aged  friend,  "where  is  my  favourite  youth?" 
"Alas!"  replied  the  good  old  man,  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  "  he  is  fallen,  irrecoverably  fallen :  he 
has  forsaken  the  society  of  saints,  and  is  now  a 


Ui 

leader  of  a  gang  of  robbers  in  the  neighbouring 
mountains." 

Upon  hearing  this  unexpected  and  unpleasant 
account,  the  apostle  forgot  his  sufferings  and  his, 
years,  and  hastened  to  the  place  of  rendezvous, 
where,  being  seized  by  one  Oj  the  band,  he  desired 
to  speak  with  their  captain. 

The  captain  being  told  that  a  strange  pilgrim 
asked  to  be  admitted  to  him,  ordered  him  to  be 
brought  before  him:  but  when  he  beheld  the 
venerable  apostle,  his  hopes  of  amusement  sunk, 
and  were  changed  into  shame  and  confusion ;  and 
at  his  gentle  reproof,  the  hardy  leader  of  a  band 
of  robbers,  trembled  before  a  poor  and  helpless 
old  man.  He  quitted  once  more  the  society  of 
wickedness,  and  lived  and  died  in  tlie  service  of 
his  Redeemer. 


There  is  nothing  New  under  the  Sun 


•  It  is  certain,  that  in  respect  to  us,  there  hap- 
pen many  new  things  upon  earth.  It  is  true,  new 
flowers  blow  every  season,  and  various  fruits  ripen. 
The  scene  of  nature  changes  every  year.  Each 
day  brings  new  events  and  new  revolutions.  The 
situations  of  objects  change  daily,  or  rather,  they 
present  themselves  to  our  senses  under  different 
forms.  But  it  is  only  relative  to  our  limited  un- 
derstandings and  knowledge,  that  it  can  really  be 
said,  there  is  any  thing  new  under  the  sun. 


142 

Nothing  is  more  certain  than  the  saying  of  Solo- 
mon, that  "  what  has  been  will  be,  and  what  has 
been  done  will  be  done,  and  there  is  nothing  new 
under  the  sun."  The  Creator,  whose  wisdom  is 
infinite,  has  not  thought  proper  to  multiply  beings 
unnecessarily.  . 

There  are  as  many  as  our  wants,  our  pleasure, 
or  our  curiosity  require.  We  cannot  even  gain  a 
superficial  knowledge  of  all  the  works  of  our  Crea- 
tor, much  less  are  we  able  to  exhaust  them.  Our 
senses  are  not  subtle  enough  to  perceive  all  that  he 
has  formed. 

Our  understandings  are  too  weak  to  cone  we  a 
just  and  perfect  idea  of  all  created  beings.  We 
therefore,  sometimes  imagine  there  are  many  h  w 
things  under  the  sun ;  for,  a*  the  whole  creation  .'^ 
immense,  and  as  we  cannot  take  in  all  the  parts  ol 
it  at  once,  we  fancy,  that  each  point  of  view  we 
see  it  in,  for  the  first  time,  is  new,  because  the 
Creator  has,  in  every  part  of  the  world,  made  a 
wonderful  variety  and  diversity. 

The  world  does  not  require  a  continued  crea- 
tion to  extend  to  infinity. — It  is  enough  that  the 
Being  of  beings  should  maintain  the  order  he  has 
established  from  the  beginning. — Ho  is  an  artist 
who  requires  but  a  small  number  jbf  springs  to 
vary  the  work  he  has  produced ;  ari^i  which  ar«, 
however,  so  varied,  and  in  so  great  a  number,  that 
though  they  succeed  one  another,  and  return  with 
the  greatest  regularity,  they  appear  \o  us  ever 
new. 

Let  us  be  content  to  enjoy  with  gratitude  the 
things  he  has  created,  without  undertaking  to  sound 
the  depths  of  them,  or  attempting  to  take  in  their 
vast  extent. 

The  impossibility  of  our  reckoning  all  the  works 


143 

of  the  creation  is,  in  some  sort,  the  seal  by  which 
we  may  conclude  tliat  the  world  is  the  work  of  a 
God :  and  it  is,  at  the  same  time,  a  certain  proof 
of  the  weakness  of  our  understandings. 

But  have  there  not  been  discoveries  made  lately, 
which  were  formerly  entirely  unknown  ?  Do  not  all 
the  kingdoms  of  nature  now  present  phenomena 
to  us.  that  we  had  no  idea  of  formerly  ?  The  most 
of  these  discoveries  we  owe  less  to  our  sagacity 
than  to  our  wants. 

In  proportion  as  these  multiplied,  new  means 
were  necessary  to  supply  them,  and  Providence 
deigned  to  furnish  us  with  those.  But  the  means 
existed  before  we  discovered  them. 

The  minerals,  plants,  and  animals  which  we 
have  lately  learned  to  know,  existed  in  the  bosom 
of  the  earth,  or  on  its  surface,  before  the  inquiries 
and  labour  of  man  had  made  them  visible  to  us. 

It  is  even  certain,  that  many  of  the  discoveries 
we  boast  the  most  of,  were  made  by  the  ancients, 
or  at  least  partly  discovered.  Why  then  do  we 
not  see  new  kinds  of  animals,  plants,  and  stones  T 
It  is  because  all  has  been  planned  by  infinite  wis- 
dom. 

All  that  he  does  is  so  perfect,  that  it  does  not 
require  to  be  renewed  or  created  again ;  there  is 
sufficient  for  our  convenience  and  use.  Nothing 
was  made  by  chance ;  all  events  are  linked  to- 
gether by  him  in  one  chain.  The  whole  fabrick 
of  the  world  is  preserved  by  the  providence  of  its 
Creator.  "^z 


13 


144 


Of  Volcanoes, 

Mines  and  caverns  reach  but  a  very  little  way 
under  the  earth's  surface,  and  therefore,  we  can- 
not know  by  them  of  the  deep  recesses  of  our 
globe.  Without  doubt,  the  wonders  that  are  still 
unknown,  surpass  those  that  have  been  represent- 
ed, as  there  are  depths  of  thousands  of  miles  which 
are  hidden  from  our  inquiry. 

The  only  tidings  we  have  from  these  unfathoma- 
ble regions,  are  by  means  of  volcanoes,  tliose  burn- 
ing mountains,  that  seem  to  discharge  their  mate- 
rids  from  the  lowest  abysses  of  the  earth. 

Out  of  their  mouths,  which  are  of  a  prodigious 
size,  are  thrown  whole  clouds  of  smoke  and  ashes, 
torrents  of  flame  and  sulphur,  with  rocks  of  an 
enormous  size,  which  are  thrown  to  many  miles 
distance ;  so  that  the  force  or  report  of  any  human 
invention,  is  but  as  a  breeze  agitating  a  feather,  oi 
the  rattling  of  a  cart-wheel  in  comparison. 

In  the  deluge  of  fire  and  melted  matter  which 
runs  down  the  sides  of  the  mountain,  whole  cities 
are  swallowed  up  and  consumed.  Nor  is  the  dan- 
ger of  these  confined  to  eruptions  only :  but  they 
frequently  produce  earthquakes  through  the  whole 
region  where  the  volcano  is  situated. 

These  volcanoes  are  foijnd  in  all  the  four  quar- 
ters of  the  globe.  In  Europe,  there  are  three  very 
remarkable  ones:  Etna  in  Sicily,  Vesuvius  in 
Italy,  and  Hecla  in  Iceland.     Etna  has  been  a  vol- 


145 

cano  for  ages  immemorial.  Its  eruptions  are  very 
violent,  and  its  discharge  has  been  known  to  cover 
the  earth  sixty-eight  feet  deep. 

In  the  year  1537,  an  eruption  of  this  mountain 
produced  aH  earthquake  through  the  whole  island 
for  twelve  days,  overturned  many  houses,  and  at 
last  formed  a  new  opening,  which  overwhelmed  all 
within  five  leagues  round.  The  cinders  thrown 
up  were  driven  even  into  Italy,  and  its  burnings 
were  seen  at  Malta,  at  the  distance  of  sixty  leagues. 

It  is  very  difficult  to  get  to  examine  this  dread- 
ful place ;  but  its  mouth  has  been  computed  to  be 
about  two  miles  over,  and  so  deep  that  no  bottom 
can  be  seen ;  on  the  sides  of  which,  sharp  spiky 
rocks  start  up  between  apertures  or  holes  that 
emit  smoke  and  flame :  all  this,  accompanied  with 
a  sound  that  never-  ceases,  louder  than  thunder, 
strikes  the  bold  with  terror,  and  the  religious  with 
veneration  for  him  that  has  power  to  control  its 
burnings. 


Of  the  Brown  Bear, 

The  brown  bear  is  found  in  almost  every  cli- 
mate, is  sometimes  carnivorous,  but  its  general 
food  is  fruits,  roots,  and  vegetables :  it  is  a  savage 
and  solitary  animal,  lives  in  desert  and  unfrequent- 
ed places,  and  chooses  its  den  in  the  most  gloomy 
and  retired  parts  of  the  forest,  or  in  the  most  dan- 
gerous and  inaccessible  precipices  or  unfi-equented 
mountains. 


146 

It  retires  alone  to  its  den  about  the  end  of  au- 
tumn, (at  which  time  it  is  very  fat,)  and  lives  for 
several  weeks  in  a  state  of  total  inactivity  and  ab- 
stinence from  food.  During  this  time,  the  female 
brings  fortii  her  young  and  suckles  them. 

She  chooses  her  retreat  for  that  purpose  in  the 
most  retired  places,  apart  from  the  male,  lest  he 
should  devour  them  ;  she  makes  a  warm  bed  for 
her  young,  and  attends  them  with  unremitted  care 
during  four  months,  and  in  all  that  time,  scarcely 
allows  herself  any  nourishment.  She  brings  forth 
two,  and  sometimes  three  young  at  a  time. 

In  the  spring,  the  old  bears,  attended  by  their 
young,  come  out  of  their  retreats,  lean  and  almost 
famished  by  their  long  confinement:  they  then 
ransack  every  quarter  in  search  of  food. 

They  frequently  climb  trees,  and  devour  the  fruit 
in  great  quantities ;  particularly  the  date  plum- 
trees,  of  which  they  are  exceedingly  fond.  They 
ascend  these  trees  with  surprising  agility,  keep 
themselves  firm  on  the  branches  with  one  paw, 
and  with  the  other  collect  the  fruit. 

The  bear  is  remarkably  fond  of  honey,  whicli 
it  will  encounter  great  difficulties  to  obtain,  and 
seek  for  with  great  cunning  and  avidity.  It  en- 
joys, in  a  superior  degree,  the  senses  of  hearing 
and  smelling.  When  tamed,  it  appears  mild  and 
obedient  to  its  master,  but  it  is  not  to  be  trusted 
without  the  greatest  caution. 

The  excessive  cruelties  practised  upon  this 
poor  animal,  in  teaching  it  to  walk  erect,  and  re- 
gulate its  motion  to  the  sound  of  the  flageolet,  are 
such  as  make  sensibility  shudder.  Its  eyes  are 
often  put  out,  and  an  iron  ring  being  put  through 
the  cartilage  of  the  nose  to  lead  it  by,  it  is  kept 


147 

from  food  and  beaten,  till  it  yield  obedience  to  the 
will  of  the  savage  tutors. 

It  is  truly  shocking  to  every  feeling  mind  to  re- 
flect, that  such  cruelties  should  be  exercised  upon 
any  part  of  the  brute  creation  by  our  fellow  men. 
That  they  should  be  rewarded  by  numbers  of  un- 
thinking people,  who  crowd  around  them  to  see 
the  animal's  rude  attempts  to  imitate  human  actions, 
is  not  to  be  wondered  at:  but  it  is  much  to  be 
wislied,  that  the  timely  interference  of  the  magis- 
trates would  prevent  every  exhibition  of  this  kind, 
that  we  might  not  be  reproached  with  tolerating 
practices  so  disgraceful  to  humanity. 

One  of  these  animals,  presented  to  the  Prince 
of  Wales  a  few  years  ago,  was  kept  in  the  tower. 
By  the  carelessness  of  the  servant,  the  door  of  his 
den  was  left  open  ;  and  the  keeper's  wife  happening 
to  go  across  the  court,  the  animal  flew  out,  seized 
the  woman,  and  fastened  upon  her  neck,  which  he 
bit ;  and  without  offering  any  further  violence,  lay 
sucking  the  blood  out  of  the  wound. 

Resistance  was  in  vain,  as  it  only  served  to  irn- 
tate  the  brute  ;  and  she  must  inevitably  have  per- 
ished, had  not  her  husband  luckily  discovered  her 
situation,  and  by  a  sudden  blow  with  a  staff*,  obli- 
ged the  bear  to  quit  his  hold  and  retire  to  his  den  ; 
which  he  did  with  great  reluctance,  and  not  with- 
out making  a  second  attempt  to  come  at  the  wo- 
man, who  was  almost  dead  through  fear  and  loss 
of  blood. 

It  is  somewhat  remarkable,  that  whenever  it  hap- 
pened to  see  her  afterwards,  it  growled  and  made 
most  violent  struggles  to  get  out  to  her.     The 
'  prince,  upon  hearing  of  this  circumstance,  ordered 
the  bear  to  be  killed. 

13* 


148 


Of  the  Luminous  Particles  observed  on 
the  Surface  of  the  Sea, 


When  a  ship  is  under  full  sail,  we  often  see  a 
great  light  in  her  wake,  that  is,  in  the  water  she 
has  run  through,  and  as  it  were  broken  in  her  pas- 
sage. Those  who  do  not  look  narrowly  at  this 
light,  often  attribute  it  to  the  moon,  the  stars,  or 
the  lantern  on  the  stern. 

But  by  a  little  attention,  this  mistake  is  easily 
rectified,  since  the  light  is  greatest  when  the  moon 
is  under  the  horizon,  when  the  stars  are  covered  by 
clouds,  when  the  candle  in  the  lantern  is  extin- 
guished, and  when  no  other  light  appears  on  the 
surface  of  the  sea. 

This  light  is  not  always  equal,  since,  on  some 
occasions,  it  is  hardly  discernible  ;  sometimes  it  is 
clear,  and  at  others  languid ;  sometimes  it  is  far 
extended,  and  at  others  not. 

It  is  sometimes  so  great  that  we  may  read  by  it 
nine  or  ten  feet  above  the  surface  of  the  water. 
As  for  its  extent,  sometimes  the  whole  wake  ap- 
pears luminous  for  the  space  of  thirty  to  forty 
feet;  but  the  light  decreases  in  proportion  as  it  is 
farther  from  the  ship. 

Sometimes  we  may  in  the  wake  easily  distinguish 
the  luminous  from  the  obscure  parts  ;  on  which  oc- 
casion, the  wake  appears  like  a  beautiful  river  of 
milk. 

Not  only  the  wake  ©f  a  ship  produces  this 
light :  the  motion  of  fish  affords  a  light  sufficient  to 
distinguish  their  bulk    and  species.     Sometimes 


149 

a  numerous  shoal  of  fish,  when  spqrting  in  the 
sea,  excite  a  kind  of  artificial,  but  very  agreeable 
fire.  Very  often  a  rope  opposed  to  the  motion 
of  the  waves,  is  sufficient  to  render  them  lumi- 
nous. 

If  sea-water  is  stirred  in  the  dark,  we  find  an 
infinite  number  of  shining  particles  in  it.  If  we 
dip  a  piece  of  linen  in  it,  and  wring  it  in  the  dark, 
we  see  the  same  thing,  and  also  perceive  a  num- 
ber of  sparks  flying  out  of  it,  when  we  but  shake  it 
after  it  is  half  dry. 

When  one  of  the  sparks  is  formed,  it  lasts  a  long 
time  ;  and  if  it  falls  on  any  sohd  body,  such  as  the 
edge  of  a  vessel,  it  will  last  for  several  hours.  At 
Brazil,  the  shore  sometimes  appears  all  on  fire  with 
these  sparks. 

The  production  of  them  depends,  in  a  great 
measure,  on  the  quality  of  the  water ;  and  gene- 
rally speaking,  this  light  is  greatest  when  the  sea  is 
most  foaming. 

Sometimes,  a  piece  of  linen  dipped  in  the  sea, 
comes  out  all  over  glutinous.  It  is  observable, 
that  when  the  wake  is  most  shining,  the  water  is 
most  viscid  and  fat.  A  cloth  dipped  in  this  water, 
gives  most  light  when  it  is  moved. 

The  following  observations  serve  to  prove  that 
the  water  is  the  more  luminous  in  proportion  to 
its  viscidity.  A  fish  was  one  day. caught,  which 
some  took  to  be  a  bonite.  The  inside  of  the 
throat  of  the  fish,  in  the  night-time,  appeared  like 
a  live  coal ;  so  that,  without  any  other  light,  a  per- 
son could  have  read  as  well  as  by  the  most  lumi- 
nous wake. 

The  throat  was  full  of  a  viscid  matter,  with 
which,  when  a  bit  of  wood  was  besmeared,  it 
forthwith  became  luminous ;   but  as  soon  as  the 


150 

humour  was  dried,  the  light  was  extinguished 
The  external  parts  of  several  kinds  of  fish,  when 
out  of  water,  will  emit  a  strong  light  by  night. 


Of  Cultivating  the  Social  Virtues, 

Youth  is  the  proper  season  for  cultivating  the 
benevolent  and  humane  affections.^  As  a  great 
part  of  thy  happiness  is  to  depend  on  the  connex- 
ions which  thou  wilt  form  with  others,  i,t  is  of  high 
importance  to  acquire,  betimes,  the  temper  and 
the  manners  which  will  gain  esteem  from  the  good, 
and  command  respect  from  the  world,  though  con- 
trary to  its  practice  in  general. 

Let,  then,  a  strict  sense  of  justice  be  a  chief 
foundation  for  all  thy  social  qualities.  In  thy 
most  early  intercourse,  and  even  in  thy  youthful 
amusements,  let  no  unfairness  be  found.  Engrave 
on  thy  mind  that  sacred  rule,  of  "  doing  in  all 
things  to  others  as  thou  wouldst  wish  they  should 
do  unto  thee."  For  this  end,  impress  thyself 
with  a  deep  sense  of  the  original  and  natural 
equality  of  them. 

Whatever  advantages  in  thy  birth  or  estate  thou 
possessest,  never  display  them  with  vain  glory. 
Leave  such  subordinations  to  regulate,  if  necessary, 
the  intercourse  of  thy  more  advanced  years :  at 
present,  it  becomes  thee  to  act  among  thy  com- 
panions as  man  with  man. 

Remember  how  unknown  to  thee  are  the  chan- 
ges of  this  world ;  and  how  often  they  on  whom 
ignorant  and  contemptuous  young  men  once  look- 


1^1 

ed  down  with  scorn,  have  risen  to  be  their  supe- 
riors in  virtue  and  true  goodness  in  future  years. 

Compassion  is  an  emotion  of  which  thou  shouldst 
never  be  ashamed.  Graceful  in  youth,  is  tlie  tear 
of  sympathy,  and  the  heart  that  melts  at  the  tale 
of  wo.  Let  not  ease  and  self-indulgence  contract 
thy  affections,  and  wrap  thee  up  in  selfish  enjoy- 
ment. Accustom  thyself  to  think  of  the  distresses 
of  human  life;  of  the  solitary  cottage,  the  dying 
parent,  and  the  weeping  orphan. 

Sport  not  with  pain  and  anxiety,  in  any  of  thy 
amusements,  nor  treat  even  the*  meanest  insect 
with  wanton  cruelty ;  because  that  just  and  holy 
Being  who  gave  us  life,  takes  notice  of  all  our  ac- 
tions ;  yea,  knoweth  our  thoughts  before  they  are 
formed ;  of  whom  it  is  written,  "  Vengeance  is 
mine,  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord." 


Of  the  restless  7notion  of  the  Sea^  and  its 
Effects  on  the  Land. 

In  places  where  the  force  of  the  sea  is  not  vio- 
lent, nor  its  tides  rapid,  the  shores  are  generally 
seen  to  descend  with  a  gradual  declivity  or  slope. 
Over  these,  the  waters  of  the  tide  steal,  by  almost 
imperceptible  degrees,  covering  them  for  a  large 
extent,  and  leaving  them  bare  on  its  recess. 

Upon  these  shores,  the  sea  seldom  beats  with 
any  great  violence,  as  a  large  wave  has  not  depth 


152 

sufficient  to  float  it  onwards;  so  that  here  only  are 
to  be  seen  gentle  surges,  making  calmly  towards 
the  land,  and  lessening  as  they  approach. 

In  others,  where  the  sea  is  deep,  and  forms 
strong  currents,  we  see  the  land  worn  away  until 
it  is  at  last  formed  into  astonishing  bulwarks,  so  as 
to  stop  the  further  encroachments  of  the  assailing 
ocean.  In  other  places  which  were  threatened 
with  destruction  from  the  sea,  bulwarlis  have  been 
raised  by  art  to  oppose  its  encroachments. 

The  sea's  being  thus  seen  to  take  away  land  at 
pleasure,  in  some  places,  and  also  to  give  it  in 
others,  is,  without  question,  one  of  the  most  extra 
ordinary  considerations  in  natural  history. 

In  some  places,  it  is  seen  to  obtain  the  superiori- 
ty, by  slow  and  certain  approaches,  or  to  burst  in 
at  once,  and  overwhelm  all  things  in  undistinguished 
destruction ;  in  other  places,  it  departs  from  its 
shores,  and,  where  its  waters  have  been  known  to 
rage,  it  leaves  the  land  dry,  which  becomes  covered 
with  the  most  beautiful  verdure. 

The  foregoing  is  fully  confirmed  by  ancient  and 
modern  histories  of  the  principal  parts  of  the  world, 
our  own  not  excepted.  In  Yorkshire,  as  well  as 
in  other  parts  of  the  world,  several  places  that 
were  formerly  inhabited,  are  now  under  water; 
and  at  the  njouth  of  the  Humber,  some  hundreds 
of  acres  have  been  left  dry,  and  the  land  culti- 
vated. 


163 


On  the  Use  of  Carriages, 

With  respect  to  exercise,  the  various  machines 
that  have  been  invented  for  every  sort  of  work, 
render  bodily  strength  of  less  importance  than 
formerly  :  this  change,  so  far  as  they  are  useful,  is 
favourable  to  the  operations  of  the  mind,  without 
hurting  bodily  health. 

The  travelling  on  horseback,  though  a  less  vi- 
gorous exertion  of  strength  than  walking,  is  not 
luxury,  because  it  is  a  healthful  exercise.  This 
cannot  be  said  of  wheel-carriages.  A  spring 
coach,  roUing  along  a  smooth  road,  gives  no  ex- 
ercise, or  so  little  as  to  be  a  preventive  of  no 
disease.  It  tends  to  disable  the  body,  as  well  as 
the  mind. 

The  increase  of  wheel-carriages,  within  a  cen- 
tury, is  a  remarkable  proof  of  the  growth  of  luxu- 
rious indolence.  During  the  reign  of  James  I. 
the  English  judges  rode  to  Westminster  on  horse- 
back, and  probably  did  so  many  years  after  his 
death. 

Charles  I.  issued  a  proclamation,  prohibiting 
hackney-coaches  to  be  used  in  London,  except  by 
those  who  travelled  at  least  three  miles  out  of 
town.  At  the  restoration,  Charles  II.  made  his 
public  entry  into  London  on  horSeback,  between 
his  two  brothers,  the  Dukes  of  York  and  Glou- 
cester. 

We  are  told  by  Rushworth,  that  in  London, 
not  above  a  hundred  years  ago,  there  were  but 
twenty  hackney-coaches,  which  did  not  stand  in 
the  streets,  but  were  kept  at  home  till  called  for. 


154 

He  adds,  that  the  king  and  counsel  published  a  pro- 
clamation against  them,  because  they  raised  the 
price  of  provender  upon  the  king,  and  higher  class 
of  people. 

At  present,  one  thousand  of  those  coaches  ply 
in  the  streets  of  London.  The  first  coach  with 
glasses,  in  France,  was  brought  from  Brussels  to 
Paris,  in  the  year  1660,  by  the  Prince  of  Conde. 
Sedan  chairs  were  not  known  in  England  before 
the  year  1634. 

It  remains  now  to  remark,  that  particularly 
cookery  and  coaches,  as  well  as  every  other  luxu- 
ry, tend  to  destroy  virtue  and  health  :  the  one,  by 
gratifying  the  appetites  to  excess,  takes  away 
every  relish  for  virtuous  improvement;  the  other, 
serving  our  indolence,  leaves  no  necessity  for  bodi- 
ly exercise :  and  so,  in  partaking  of  both,  a  man's 
health  is  ruined. 


On  the  Sense  of  Property. 

In  the  earliest  ages  of  the  world,  perhaps,  every 
man  separately  hunted  for  himself  and  his  family. 
But  £is  that  way  of  life  in  itself  is  subject  to  many 
inconveniences,  it  was  thought  proper  to  carry  it 
on  in  common.  We  find,  accordingly,  the  prac- 
tice of  hunting  and  fishing  in  common,  even 
amongst  the  wildest  sort  of  people. 


155 

In  small  tribes,  where  the  spirit  of  freedom  is 
lively,  or  in  a  country  thinly  peopled,  in  propor- 
tion to  its  fertility,  the  living  in  common  is  agreea- 
ble. But  in  a  large  state,  where  selfishness  pre- 
vails, or  in  any  state  wherein  is  much  people,  and 
which  will,  of  course,  require  extraordinary  cul- 
ture, the  best  method  is  to  permit  every  man  to 
shift  for  himself  and  his  family. 

Men  wish  to  labour  for  themselves ; .  and  they 
labour  more  ardently  for  themselves  than  for  the 
public.  The  sense  of  property  is  not  confined  to 
mankind  only.  The  beavers  perceive  the  timber 
they  store  up  for  food,  to  be  their  property ;  and 
the  bees  seem  to  have  the  same  perception,  with 
respect  to  their  winter's  stock  of  honey.  Sheep 
know  when  they  are  in  a  trespass,  and  run  to 
their  own  pasture  on  the  sight  of  a  man  :  monkeys 
do  the  same,  when  overseen  in  robbing  an  or- 
chard. 

Sheep  and  horned  cattle  have  a  sense  of  pro- 
perty with  respect  to  their  resting  place  in  a  fold 
or  enclosure,  which  every  one  guards  against  the 
trespass  of  another.  I  think  he  must  be  wrong 
who  denies  that  perception  to  rooks. 

Thieves  there  are  among  them,  as  among  men. 
But  if  a  rook  take  a  stick  from  another's  nest,  it  is 
said  a  council  is  held,  much  chattering  ensues,  and 
it  ends  with  destroying  the  nest  of  the  criminal  or 
offender. 

To  man  alone  are  furnished  rude  materials  only. 
To  convert  these  into  food  and  clothing,  requires 
mdustry ;  and  if  he  had  not  a  sense  that  the  pro- 
duct of  his  labour  belongs  to  himself,  his  industry 
would  be  faint.  In  general,  it  is  pleasant  to  ob- 
serve, 'that  the  sense .  of  property  is  always  given 
where  it  is  useful. 

14 


156 


The  Heinous  Nature  of  Avarice, 


That  thirst  of  the  unrenewed  heart  after  more 
than  is  necessary,  even  of  lawful  things,  is  pro- 
perly called  covetousness ;  and  truly  it  is  a  re- 
proach to  any  man,  and  especially  a  religious  per- 
son, that  he  knows  not  when  he  has  enough ;  when 
to  leave  off;  when  to  be  satisfied. 

That  notwithstanding  one  plentiful  season  of 
gain  after  another,  he  is  so  far  from  making  that 
the  cause  of  withdrawing  from  the  trafficks  of  the 
world,  that  he  makes  it  a  sufficient  reason  for 
launching  further  into  it;  as  if  the  more  he  hath, 
the  more  he  desires. 

He,  therefore,  reneweth  his  appetite,  like  an  un- 
satisfied glutton,  and  bestirs  himself  more  than 
ever,  that  he  may  have  his  share  in  the  scramble, 
while  any  thing  is  to  be  had :  this  is  as  if  cumber, 
not  retirement,  and  gain,  not  contentment,  were 
the  duty  and  the  comfort  of  the  Christian. 

O,  that  this  thing  were  better  considered !  for 
not  being  so  observable,  nor  falling  under  the  eye 
of  human  law,  as  other,  not  greater  vices  do,  there 
is  more  danger,  for  want  of  that  check.  It  is  plain, 
that  most  people  strive  not  for  a  competency  alone, 
but  wealth.  Some  there  are,  who  love  it  strongly, 
and  spend  it  freely,  or  rather  prodigally,  when  they 
have  gotten  it. 

Though  this  is  sinful,  yet  it  is  more  excusable, 
if  not  in  the  carrying  on  of  horrid  crimes,  than  to 
love  money  for  money's  sake ;  for  this  is  one  of 
the  basest  passions  the  mind  of  man  can  be  capti- 


157 

vated  with ;  a  perfect  lust ;  and  a  more  soul-de- 
filing one,  is  hardly  to  be  found  in  the  catalogue  of 
concupiscence.  \ 

See,  then,  O  ye  of  the  rising  generation,  and  nip 
this  poisonous  fruit  in  the  bud,  least  ye  be  of  the 
number  of  those  which  cumber  the  ground. 


The  Greenland  Dog, 

The  savage  aspect  and  disposition  of  this  dog, 
seem  to  bear  some  affinity  to  the  rigours  of  the 
climate  it  inhabits. 

Most  of  the  Greenland  dogs  are  white ;  but 
some  are  spotted,  and  some  black.  They  may 
rather  be  said  to  howl  than  bark.  The  Green- 
landers  sometimes  eat  their  flesh  ;  they  make  gar- 
ments of  their  skins,  and  use  them  in  drawing 
sledges.  Five  of  these  dogs,  that  had  escaped  with 
their  trappings,  were  found  in  Greenland,  and 
brought  to  this  country  a  few  years  ago,  by  one  of 
our  ships  in  the  fishery.  * 

The  dogs  of  Kamschatka  are  strong,  nimble, 
and  active,  and  are  very  useful  in  drawing  sledges, 
the  only  method  of  travelling  in  that  dreary  coun- 
try during  the  winter.  They  travel  with  great 
expedition  ;  Captain  King  relates,  that  during  his 
stay  there,  a  courier,  with  despatches,  drawn  by 
them,  performed  a  journey  of  270  miles  in  less  than 
four  days. 

The  sledges  are  usually  drawn  by  five  dogs; 


.^."^^.s' 


158 


four  of  them  yoked  two  and  two  abreast ;  the  fore- 
most acts  as  leader  to  the  rest.  The  reins  being 
fastened  to  a  collar,  round  the  leading  dog's  neck, 
are  of  little  use  in  directing  the  pack,  the  driver 
depending  chiefly  on  their  obedience  to  his  voice, 
with  which  he  animates  them  to  proceed. 

Great  care  and  attention  are  necessarily  used  in 
training  up  those  for  leaders,  which  are  more  valu- 
able according  to  their  steadiness  and  docility, 
the  sum  of  forty  roubles,  or  ten  pounds  sterling, 
being  no  unusual  price  for  one  of  them. 

The  rider  has  a  crooked  stick,  answering  the 
purpose  both  of  whip  and  reins ;  with  which,  by 
striking  on  the  snow,  he  regulates  the  speed  of  the 
dogs,  or  stops  thern  at  his  pleasure.  When  they 
are  mattentive  to  their  duty,  he  often  chastises 
them  by  throwing  it  at  them. 

He  discovers  great  dexterity  in  regaining  his 
stick,  which  is  the  greatest  difficulty  attending  his 
situation ;  for  if  he  should  happen  to  lose  it,  the 
dogs  immediately  perceive  the  circumstance,  and 
seldom  fail  to  set  off  at  full  speed,  and  continue  to 
run  till  their  strength  is  exhausted,  or  till  the  car- 
riage is  overturned,  and  dashed  to  pieces,  or  hur- 
ried down  a  precipice. 

In  the  winter  of  1 784,  a  dog  of  this  kind  was 
left  by  a  smuggling  vessel,  near  Boomer,  on  the 
coast  of  Northumberland.  Finding  himself  de- 
serted, he  began  to  worry  sheep ;  and  did  so  much 
damage,  that  he  became  the  terror  of  the  country, 
within  the  circuit  of  above  twenty  miles. 

When  he  caught  a  sheep,  he  bit  a  hole  in  its 
right  side,  and  after  eating  the  tallow  about  the 
kidneys,  he  left  it ;  several  of  them  thus  lacerated, 
were  found  alive  by  the  shepherds,  and  being  ta- 
ken proper  care  of,  some  of  them  recovered. 


159 

From  his  delicacy  in  this  respect,  the  destruc- 
tion he  made  may  in  some  measure  be  conceived  ; 
as  it  may  be  supposed,  that  the  fat  of  one  sheep  a 
day,  would  hardly  satisfy  his  hunger.  The  farmers 
were  so  much  alarmed  by  his  depredations,  that 
various  means  were  used  for  his  destruction. 

They  frequently  pursued  him  with  hounds,  grey- 
hounds, &c.  but  when  the  dogs  came  up  with  him 
he  laid  down  on  his  back,  as  if  supplicating  for 
mercy  ;  and  in  that  position  they  never  hurt  him  ; 
he  therefore  laid  quietly,  taking  his  rest,  till  the 
hunters  approached,  when  he  made  off  without 
being  followed  by  the  hounds,  till  they  were  again 
excited  to  the  pursuit,  which  always  terminated 
unsuccessfully. 

And  it  is  worthy  of  notice,  that  he  was  one 
day  pursued  from  Howick,  to  upwards  of  thirty 
miles  distance ;  but  returned  thither  and  killed 
sheep  the  same  evening.  His  constant  residence, 
during  the  day,  was  upon  a  rock  on  the  Heugh- 
hill^  near  Howick,  where  he  had  a  view  of  four  roads 
that  approached  it;  and  in  the  spring  of  1785, 
after  many  fruitless  attempts,  he  was  at  last  shot 
there. 


Of  Water  Spouts, 

These    spouts   are   very  common    in    hot   cli- 
mates, though  but  seldom  in  our  own.     They  ex- 
tend from  indeterminate  heights  in  the  air,  down 
14* 


160 

into  the  sea.  Tournefort's  account  of  the  last  of 
three,  seen  by  him  in  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  de- 
scribes them  thus  :  "  In  the  beginning,  they  were 
all  about  the  thickness  of  one's  finger,  except  at 
the  top,  where  they  were  broader. 

"  Shortly  after,  two  of  them  disappeared ;  the 
third  one  increased  considerably,  and  its  canal, 
which  was  at  first  so  small,  soon  became  as  thick 
as  a  man's  arm,  then  as  his  leg,  and  at  last  thicker 
than  his  whole  body. 

"  I  saw  distinctly  through  this  clear  body,  the 
water,  which  rose  up  with  a  winding  motion,  and 
it  sometimes  diminished  a  httle  of  its  thickness, 
and  again  increased  to  the  same :  sometimes  wi- 
dening at  top,  and  sometimes  at  bottom  ;  and  I  am 
almost  convinced,  that  this  alteration  in  the  spout 
was  caused  by  the  wind,  which  pressed  the  cloud, 
and  forced  it  to  give  up  its  contents. 

"  After  some  time,  its  bulk  was  so  decreased  as 
to  be  no  thicker  than  a  man's  arm  again  ;  and  thus 
swelling  and  diminishing,  it  at  last  became  very 
small.  In  the  end,  I  observed  the  sea,  which  was 
raised  about  it,  to  resume  its  level  by  degrees,  and 
the  end  of  the  spout  that  touched  it,  to  become 
contracted,  as  if  tied  around  with  a  cord  ;  and  this 
continued  till  the  light,  striking  through  the  cloud, 
took  away  the  view. 

"  I  still,  however,  continued  to  look,  expecting 
that*  its  parts  would  join  again,  as  I  had  before 
seen,  in  one"  of  the  others,  in  which  the  spout  was 
more  than  once  broken,  and  yet  again  came  to- 
gether; but  I  was  disappointed,  for  the  spout  ap- 
peared no  more." 

These  spouts  are  extremely  dangerous  to  ships 
at  sea,  when  they  happen  too  near  them ;  for  if 


161 

a  Vvwel  were  to  strike  one  of  them,  it  would  m- 
staiiuy  break,  and  either  greatly  damage  or  sink 
it  to  ine  bottom. 


Tlie  Polar^  or  Great  White  Bear. 


It  inhabits  only  the  coldest  parts  of  the  globe, 
and  has  been  found  about  latitude  eighty,  as  far 
as  navigators  have  penetrated  northwards.  These 
inhospitable  regions  seem  adapted  to  its  sullen 
nature. 

It  has  been  seldom  seen  farther  south  than 
Newfoundland ;  but  abounds  chiefly  on  the  shores 
of  Hudson's  Bay,  Greenland,  and  Spitzbergen,  on 
one  side;  and  those  of  Nova  Zembla,  on  the 
other. 

It  has  been  sometimes  found  in  the  intermediate 
countries  of  Norway  and  Iceland;  but  such  as 
have  appeared  in  those  parts,  have  always  been 
driven  thither  upon  floating  sheets  of  ice,  so  that 
those  countries  are  only  acquainted  with  them  by 
accident. 

During  summer,  they  take  up  their  residence 
on  large  islands  of  ice,  and  frequently  pass  from 
one  to  another.  They  swim  well,  and  can  go  to 
the  distance  of  six  or  seven  leagues ;  they  likewise 
dive,  but  do  not  continue  long  under  water. 


162 

When  the  pieces  of  ice  are  detached  by  strong 
winds  or  currents,  the  bears  allow  themselves  to 
be  carried  along  with  them  ;  and  as  they  cannot 
regain  the  land,  or  abandon  the  ice  on  which 
they  are  embarked,  they  often  perish  in  the  open 
sea. 

Those  which  arrive  with  the  ice  on  the  coasts 
of  Iceland  or  Norway,  are  almost  famished  with 
hunger,  from  the  length  of  their  voyage,  and  are 
extremely  voracious. 

A  few  years  since,  the  crew  of  a  boat  belonging 
to  a  ship  in  the  whale  fishery,  shot  at  a  bear,  at  a 
short  distance,  and  wounded  it ;  the  animal  im- 
mediately set  up  the  most  dreadful  yells,  and  ran 
along  the  ice  towards  the  boat. 

Before  it  reached  it,  a  second  shot  was  fired, 
and  hit  it.  This  served  to  increase  its  fury;  it 
presently  swam  to  the  boat,  and  in  attempting 
to  get  on  board,  reached  its  fore  foot  upon  the 
gunwale,  but  one  of  the  crew  having  a  hatchet, 
cut  it  off.  ^ 

The  animal,  hoNvever,  still  continued  to  swim 
after  them,  till  they  arrived  at  the  ship,  and  seve- 
ral shots  were  fired  at  it,  which  also  took  effect : 
but  on  reaching  the  ship,  it  immediately  ascended 
the  deck,  and  the  crew  having  fled  into  the  shrouds, 
it  was  pursuing  them  thither,  when  a  shot  from  one 
of  them  laid  it  dead  upon  the  deck. 

Its  flesh  is  white,  and  is  said  to  taste  like  mut- 
ton ;  the  fat  is  melted  for  train  oil,  and  that  of  the 
feet  for  medicine.  The  fondness  for  their  oflf- 
spring  is  so  great,  that  they  will  die  rather  than 
desert  them.  Wounds  serve  only  to  make  their 
attachment  more  violent ;  they  embrace  their  cubs 
to  the  last,  and  bemoan  them  with  the  most  piteous 
cries. 


163 

They  feed  on  fish,  seals,  and  the  carcasses  of 
whales.  Allured  by  the  scent  of  the  seal's  flesh, 
they  often  break  into  the  huts  of  the  Greenlanders 


Of  Humility  in  our  Attainments, 


Every  person  of  good  capacity  naturally  de- 
sires increase  of  knowledge;  but  what  doth 
knowledge  profit  without  the  fear  of  the  Lord? 
Better  is  the  humble  peasant,  that  serveth  God, 
than  tire  proud  philosopher,  who,  destitute  of  the 
itnowledge  of  himself,  can  describe  the  course  of 
the  planets. 

He  that  truly  knows  himself,  becomes  vile  in 
1^  own  eyes,  and  has  no  delight  in  the  praise  of 
man.  If  I  knew  all  that  the  world  contains,  and 
had  not  charity,  what  would  it  avail  me  in  the 
sight  of  God,  wlTo  will  judge  me  according  to  my 
deeds?  Rest  from  an  inordinate  desire  of  know- 
ledge, for  it  is  subject  to  much  perplexity  and  de- 
lusion. 

Learned  men  are  fond  of  the  notice  of  the 
world,  and  desire  to  be  accounted  wise ;  but  there 
are  many  thingss  the  knowledge  of  which  has  no 
tendency  to  promote  the  divine  life;  and  it  is 
surely  a  proof  of  folly  to  dfcvote  ourselves  wholly 
to  that  with  which  our  supreme  good  has  no 
connexion. 

The  heart  is  not  to  be  satisfied  with  a  multitude 
of  words ;   but  a  holy  life  is  a  continual  feast,  and 


164 

a  pure  conscience  the  foundation  of  a  firm  and 
immoveable  confidence  in  the  Almighty.  The 
more  thou  knowest,  and  the  better  thou  under- 
standest,  tlie  more  severe  will  be  thy  condemna- 
tion, unless  thy  life  be  proportionably  more  holy 
and  useful. 

Be  not,  therefore,  exalted  for  any  uncommon 
skill  in  any  art  or  science,  but  let  thy  knowledge, 
if  superior,  make  thee  more  fearful  and  more  watch- 
ful over  thyself. 

If  thou  wouldst  learn  and  know  that  which  is 
truly  useful,  love  to  be  unknown  as  to  thy  abili- 
ties, and  to  be  held  in  no  estimation ;  for  the  high- 
est and  most  profitable  learning  is,  the-knowledge 
and  contempt  of  ourselves ;  and  to  have  no  opin- 
ion of  our  own  merit,  and  always  to  think  well  and 
highly  of  the  good  in  others,  is  an  evidence  of 
true  wisdom  and  perfection.  Therefore,  though 
all  men  are  frail,  thou  shouldst  count  none  more  so 
than  thyself. 


On  the  Study  of  History, 

The  advantages  found  in  history  seem  to  be  of 
three  kinds ;  as  it  amuses  the  fancy,  as  it  im- 
proves the  understanding,  and  as  it  strengthens 
virtue. 

In  reality,  what  more  agreeable  entertainment 
■  to  the  mind  than  to  be  transported  into  the  re- 
motest ages  of  the  world,  and  to  observe  human 


165 

society,  in  its  infancy,  making  the  first  faint  essays 
toward  the  arts  and  sciences  ?  to  see  the  policy 
of  government  and  the  civility  of  conversation  re- 
fining by  degrees,  and  every  thing  that  is  orna- 
mental to  human  life,  advancing  towards  its  per- 
fection ?  to  mark  the  rise,  progress,  declension, 
and  final  extinction  of  the  most  flourishing  em- 
pires ;  the  virtues  which  contribute  to  their  great- 
ness, and  the  vices  which  drew  on  their  ruin  ?  In 
short,  to  see  all  the  human  race,  from  the  begin- 
ning of  time,  pass  as  it  were  in  review  before  us, 
appearing  in  their  true  colours,  without  any  of 
those  disguises  which,  during  their  life  time,  so 
much  perplexed  the  judgment  of  the  beholders  T 
What  spectacle  can  be  imagined  so  magnificent, 
so  various,  so  interesting  ?  What  amusement,  either 
of  the  senses  or  imagination,  can  be  compared 
with  it  ?  Shall  those  trifling  pastimes,  which  en- 
gross so  much  of  our  time,  be  preferred  as  more 
satisfactory,  and  more  fit  to  engage  our  attention  ? 
How  perverse  must  that  taste  be,  which  is  capable 
of  so  wrong  a  choice  of  pleasures  ? 

But  history  is  a  most  improving  part  of  know- 
ledge, as  well  as  an  agreeable  amusement ;  and, 
-'^'^ed,  a  great  part  of  what  we  commonly  call 

^  jon,  and  value  so  highly,  is  nothing  but  an 
.^  ^^intance  with  historical  facts.  An  extensive 
knowledge  of  this  kind,  belongs  to  men  of  letters ; 
but  I  must  think  it  an  unpardonable  ignorance  in 
persons  of  whatever  sex  or  condition,  not  to  be 
acqu-iinted  with  the  history  of  their  own  country, 
along  with  the  histories  of  ancient  Greece  and 
Rcme. 

^  must  add,  that  history  is  not  only  a  valuable 
p'jtrt  of  knowledge,  but  opens  the  door  to  many 
■  ther  parts  of  knowledge,  and  affords  materials  to 


166 

most  of  the  sciences.  And,  indeed,  if  we  consider 
the  shortness  of  hiiman  life,  and  our  limited  know- 
ledge, even  of  what  passes  in  our  own  time,  we 
must  be  sensible,  that  we  should  be  forever  children 
in  understanding,  were  it  not  for  this  invention  , 
which  extends  our  experience  to  all  past  ages,  and 
to  the  most  distant  nations,  making  them  contri- 
bute as  much  to  our  improvement  in  wisdom  as  il 
they  had  actually  lain  under  our  observation.  A 
man  acquainted  with  history,  may,  in  some  re- 
spect, be  said  to  have  lived  from  the  beginning  of 
the  world,  and  to  have  been  making  continual  ad- 
ditions to  his  stock  of  knowledge  in  every  century 
There  is  also  an  advantage  in  that  knowledge 
which  is  acquired  by  history,  above  what  is  learn- 
ed by  the  practice  of  the  world,  that  it  brings  us 
acquainted  with  human  afiairs,  without  diminish- 
ing in  the  least  from  the  most  delicate  sentiments 
of  virtue.  And,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  scarcely  know 
any  study  or  occupation  so  unexceptionable  as  his- 
tory in  this  particular.  Poets  can  paint  virtue  in 
the  most  charming  colours;  but  as  they  address 
themselves  entirely  to  the  passions,  they  often  be- 
come advocates  for  vice.  Even  philosophers  are 
apt  to  bewilder  themselves  in  the  subtilty  of  thpi'* 
speculations;  and  we  have  seen  some  go  SQ  ' 
to  deny  the  reality  of  all  moral  distinctions. 
I  think  it  a  remark  worthy  the  attention  ot  me 
speculative  reader,  that  the  historians  have  been, 
almost  without  exception^  the  true  friends  )f  vir- 
tue, and  have  always  represented  it  in  iu  pro- 
per colours,  however  they  may  have  erred  in  their 
judgments  about  particular  persons.  Nor  is  ♦his 
combination  of  historians  in  favour  of  virtue,  at  all 
difficult  to  be  accounted  for.  When  a  man  if 
business  enters  into  life  and  action,  he  is  more  aj 


167 

to  consider  the  characters  of  men  as  they  have 
relation  to  his  interest,  than  as  they  stand  in  them- 
selves, and  has  his  judgment  warped  on  every 
occasion  by  the  violence  of  his  passion.  When  a 
philosopher  contemplates  characters  and  manners 
m  his  closet,  the  general  abstract  view  of  the  ob- 
jects, leaves  the  mind  so  cold  and  unmoved,  that 
the  sentiments  of  nature  have  no  room  to  play, 
as  he  scarce  feels  the  difference  betwixt  vice 
and  virtue.  History  keeps  in  a  just  medium  be- 
twixt these  extremes,  and  places  the  objects  in 
their  true  point  of  view.  The  writers  of  history, 
as  well  as  the  readers,  are  sufficiently  interested 
in  the  characters  and  events,  to  have  a  lively  sen- 
timent of  blame  or  praise ;  and,  at  the  same  time, 
have  no  particular  interest  or  concern  to  pervert 
their  judgment. 


On  the  Government  of  the  Heart, 


Keep  thy  heart  with  all  diligence ;  for  out  of 
it  are  the  issues  of  lifo  Among  the  many  wise 
counsels  given  by  the  inspired  king  Solomon,  there 
is  none  which  deserves  greater  regard  than  this. 
Its  importance,  however,  is  too  seldom  perceived 
by  the  generality  of  men.  They  are  apt  to  con- 
sider the  regulation  of  external  conduct  as  the  chiel 
object  of  attention. 

If  they  can  act  their  part  with  decency,  and 
maintain  a  fair  character,  they  conceive  their 
15 


168 

duty  to  be  fulfilled.  What  passes  in  the  mean 
time  within  their  minds,  they  suppose  to  be  of  no 
great  consequence,  either  to  themselves,  or  to  the 
world. 

In  opposition  to  this  dangerous  plan  of  morali- 
ty, the  wise  man  exhorts  us  to  keep  the  heart ; 
that  is,  to  attend  not  only  to  our  actions,  but  to 
our  thoughts  and  desires;  and  to  keep  the  heart 
with  all  diligence,  that  is,  with  sedulous  and  unre- 
mitting care ;  for  which  he  assigns  this  reason,  that, 
out  of  the  heart  are  the  issues  of  life. 

The  issues  of  life  are  justly  said  to  be  out  of 
the  heart,  because  the  state  of  the  heart  is  what 
determines  our  moral  character,  and  what  forms 
our  chief  happiness  or  misery.  The  tenour  of  our 
actions  will  always  correspond  to  the  dispositions 
that  prevail  within.  To  dissemble,  or  to  suppress 
them,  is  a  fruitless  attempt.  For  while  evil  dis- 
positions are  suffered  to  remain  in  the  heart,  they 
will  perpetually  break  forth  m  our  behaviour. 

On  whatever  side  the  weight  of  incHnation 
hangs,  it  will. draw  the  practice  after  it.  In  vain, 
therefore,  you  study  to  preserve  your  hands  clean, 
unless  you  resolve,  at  the  same  time,  to«keep  your 
hearts  pure.  Make  the  tree  good,  as  our  Saviour 
directs,  and  then  its  fruit  will  be  good  also.  If  the 
fountain  be  once  poisoned,  you  can  never  expect 
that  salubrious  streams  will  flow  from  it.  Through- 
out the  whole  of  their  course,  they  will  carry  the 
taint  of  the  parent  spring. 

But  it  is  not  merely  from  its  influence  on  exter- 
nal actions,  that  the  importance  of  the  heart  to  our 
moral  character  arises.  Independent  of  all  action, 
it  is,  in  truth,  the  state  of  the  heart  itself  which 
forms  our  character  in  the  sight  of  God. 


IG9 

With  our  fellow-creatures,  actions  must  ever 
hold  the  chief  rank;  because,  by  these  only  can 
we  judge  of  one  another :  by  these  we  effect  each 
other^'s  welfare ;  and,  therefore,  to  these  alone  the 
regulations  of  human  laws  extend.  But  in  the 
eye  of  that  Supreme  Being,  to  whom  our  whole 
internal  frame  is  uncovered,  dispositions  hold  the 
place  of  actions-,  and  it  is  not  so  much  what  we 
perform,  as  the  motives  which  move  us  to  per- 
formance, that  constitute  us  good  or  evil  in  his 
sight. 

Even  among  men,  the  morality  of  actions  is  es- 
timated by  the  principle  from  which  they  are 
judged  to  proceed  ;  and  such  as  the  principle  is, 
such  is  the  man  accounted  to  be.  One,  for  in- 
stance, may  spend  much  of  his  fortune  in  chari- 
table actions ;  and  yet,  if  he  is  believed  to  be  influ- 
enced by  mere  ostentation,  he  is  deemed  not 
charitable,  but  vain. 

If  reason  thus  clearly  teaches  us  to  estimate  the 
value  of  actions,  by  the  dispositions  which  give 
them  birth,  it  is  an  obvious  conclusion,  that,  accord- 
mg  to  those  dispositions,  we  are  all  ranked  and 
classed  by  him  who  seeth  into  every  heart. 

The  rectification  of  our  principles  of  action,  is 
the  primary  object  of  religious  discipline:  and,  in 
proportion  as  this  is  more  or  less  advanced,  we  are 
more  or  less  religious.  Accordingly,  the  regenera- 
tion of  the  heart,  is  every  where  represented  in  tlie 
Gospel  as  the  most  essential  requisite  in  the  cha- 
racter of  a  christian. 

The  state  of  the  heart  not  only  determines  our 
moral  character,  but  forms  our  principal  happiness 
or  misery.  External  situations  of  fortune  are  of 
no  farther  consequence,  than  as  they  operate  on 
the  heart ;    and  their  operation  there  is  far  from 


170 

corresponding  to  the  degree  of  worldly  prosperity 
or  adversity.  If  from  any  internal  cause,  a  man'* 
peace  of  mind  be  disturbed,  in  vain  you  load  him 
with  riches  and  honours. 

Discomposed  thoughts,  agitated  passions,  and  ai 
ruffled  temper,  poison  every  ingredient  of  pleasure 
which  the  world  can  bestow.  In  order  to  acquire 
a  capacity  for  happiness,  it  must  be  our  first  at- 
tention to  rectify  such  inward  disorders.  What- 
ever discipline  tends  to  accomplish  this  purpose,  it 
is  of  greater  importance  than  the  acquisition  of  the 
advantages  of  fortune. 

Think  what  your  heart  now  is,  and  what  must 
be  the  consequence  of  remitting  your  vigilance  in 
watching  over  it.  It  is  said  in  scripture,  to  be 
deceitful  above  all  things,  and  desperately  wicked. 
Inattention  and  remissness  are  what  the  adversary 
desires,  in  order  to  gain  full  advantage.  While  we 
are  careless  and  inattentive  to  our  religious  duty, 
he  sows  tares  in  the  field  of  the  heart.  The  heart 
which  he  finds  vacant  and  unguarded,  he  presently 
garnishes  with  evil  spirits. 

Keep  thy  heart,  therefore,  with  all  diligence, 
for  all  thy  diligence  is  here  required.  And  though 
thy  own  keeping  alone  will  not  avail,  unless  the  as- 
sistance of  a  higher  power  occur ;  yet  of  this  be 
well  assured,  that  no  aid  from  Heaven  is  to  be  ex- 
pected, if  thou  shalt  neglect  to  exert  thyself  in 
performing  the  part  assigned  thee. 


171 


Virtue  Marl's  highest  Interest 

I  FIND  myself  existing  upon  a  little  spot,  sur- 
rounded every  way  by  an  immense  unknown  ex- 
pansion. Where  am  I?  What  sort  of  place  do  I 
inhabit  ?  Is  it  exactly  accommodated  in  every  in- 
stance to  my  convenience  ?  Is  there  no  excess  of 
cold,  none  of  heat  to  offend  me  ?  Am  I  never  an- 
noyed by  animals,  either  of  my  own  or  a  different 
kind  ?  Is  every  thing  subservient  to  me,  as  though 
I  had  ordered  all  myself?  No — nothing  like  it— 
the  farthest  from  it  possible. 

The  world  appears  not,  then,  originally  made 
for  the  private  convenience  of  me  alone  ? — It  does 
not.  But  is  it  not  possible  so  to  accommodate  it, 
by  my  own  particular  industry  ?  If  to  accommo- 
date man  and  beast,  heaven  and  earth,  if  this  be 
beyond  me,  it  is  not  possible.  What  consequence 
then  follows?  or  can  there  be  any  other  than  this? 
If  I  seek  an  interest  of  my  own,  detached  from  that 
of  others,  I  seek  an  interest  which  is  chimerical,  and 
which  can  never  have  existence. 

How,  then,  must  I  determine  ?  Have  I  no  inte- 
rest at  all?  If  I  have  not,  I  am  stationed  here  to  no 
purpose.  But  why  no  interest  ?  Can  I  be  content- 
ed with  none  but  one  separate  and  detached  ?  Is  a 
social  interest  joined  with  others,  such  an  absurdi- 
ty as  not  to  be  admitted  ?  The  bee,  the  beaver, 
and  the  tribes  of  herding  animals  are  sufficient  to 
convince  me,  that  the  thing  is  somewhere  at  least 
possible.  ' 

How,  then,  am  I  assured  that  it  is  noi^qually 
true  of  man?   Admit  it ;  and  what  follows?   If  so, 
15*  :' 


'     172 

then  honour  and  justice  are  my  interest ;  then  the 
whole  train  of  moral  virtues  are  my  interest ;  with- 
out some  portion  of  which,  not  even  thieves  can 
maintain  society. 

But  farther  still — I  stop  not  here — I  pursue  this 
social  interest  as  far  as  I  can  trace  my  several  re- 
lations. I  pass  from  my  own  stock,  my  own 
neighbourhood,  my  own  nation,  to  the  whole  race 
of  mankind,  as  dispersed  throughout  the  earth. 
Am  I  not  related  to  them  all,  by  the  mutual  aid  of 
commerce,  by  the  general  intercourse  of  arts  and 
letters,  by  that  common  nature  of  which  we  all 
participate? 

Again — I  must  have  food  and  clothing.  With- 
out a  proper  genial  warmth,  I  instantly  perish.  Am 
I  not  related,  in  this  view,  to  the  very  earth  itself ; 
to  the  distant  sun,  from  whose  beams  I  derive  vi- 
gour ?  to  that  stupendous  course  and  order  of  the 
infinite  hosts  of  heaven,  by  which  the  times  and 
seasons  ever  uniformly  pass  on  ?  Were  this  order 
once  confounded,  I  could  not  probably  survive  a 
moment :  so  absolutely  do  I  depend  on  this  com- 
mon general  welfare. 

What  then  have  I  to  do,  but  to  enlarge  virtue 
into  piety  ?  Not  only  honour  and  justice,  and  what 
I  owe  to  man  are  my  interest ;  but  gratitude  also, 
acquiescence,  resignation,  adoration,  and  all  I  owe 
to  this  great  polity,  and  its  great  Governor,  our 
common  Parent. 


173 


Vicious  Connexions  the  Ruin  of  Virtue, 


Among  the  numerous  causes  which  introduce 
corruption  into  the  heart,  and  accelerate  its  growth, 
none  is  more  unhappily  powerful,  than  the  conta- 
gion which  is  diffused  by  bad  examples,  and  height- 
ened by  particular  connexions  with  persons  of  loose 
principles,  or  dissolute  morals. 

This,  in  a  licentious  state  of  society,  is  the  most 
common  source  of  those  vices  and  disorders  which 
so  much  abound  in  great  cities ;  and  often  proves, 
in  a  particular  manner,  fatal  to  the  young;  even  to 
them  whose  beginnings  were  once  auspicious  and 
promising. 

It  may,  therefore,  be  a  useful  employment  of  at- 
tention, to  trace  the  progress  of  this  principle  of 
corruption  ;  to  examine  the  means  by  which  '  evil 
communications'  gradually  undermine,  and  at  last 
destroy  '  good  morals.'  It  is,  indeed,  disagreeable 
to  contemplate  human  nature,  in  this  downward 
course  of  its  progress.  But  it  is  always  profitable 
to  know  our  own  infirmities  and  dangef». 

As  certain  virtuous  principles  are  still  inherent 
in  human  nature,  there  are  few  who  set  out  at  first 
in  the  world  without  good  dispositions.  The 
warmth  which  belongs  to  youth,  naturally  "exerts 
itself  in  generous  feelings,  and  sentiments  of  hon- 
our ;  in  strong  attachment  to  friends,  and  the  other 
emotions  of  a  kind  and  tender  heart.  Almost  all 
the  plans  with  which  persons  who  have  been  liber- 
ally educated,  begin  the  world,  are  connected  with 
honourable  views.     At  that  period,  they  repudiate 


174 

whatever  is  mean  or  base.  It  is  pleasing  to  them, 
to  think  of  commanding  the  esteem  of  those  among 
whom  they  hve,  and  of  acquiring  a  name  among 
men 

But  alas  !  how  soon  does  this  flattering  prospect 
begin  to  be  overcast !  Desires  of  pleasure  usher  m 
temptation,  and  forward  the  growth  of  disorderly 
passions.  Ministers  of  vice  are  seldom  wanting  to 
encourage  and  flatter  the  passions  of  the  young. 
Inferiors  study  to  creep  into  favour,  by  servile 
obsequiousness  to  all  their  desires  and  humours. 

Glad  to  find  any  apology  for  the  indulgences  of 
which  they  are  fond,  the  young  too  readily  listen 
to  the  voice  of  those  who  suggest  to  them,  that 
strict  notions  of  religion,  order,  and  virtue,  are  old- 
fashioned  and  illiberal  ;  that  the  restraints  which 
they  impose,  are  only  fit  to  be  prescribed  to  those  • 
who  are  in  the  first  stage  of  pupilage ;  or  to  be 
preached  to  the  vulgar,  who  ought  to  be  kept 
within  the  closest  bounds  of  regularity  and  sub- 
jection. But  the  goodness  of  their  hearts,  it  is 
insinuated  to  them,  and  the  liberality  of  their 
views,  will  fully  justify  their  emancipating  them- 
selves, in  some  degree,  from  tlie  rigid  discipline  of 
parents  and  teachers. 

Soothing  as  such  insinuations  are  to  the  youthful 
and  inconsiderate,  their  first  steps,  however,  in  vice, 
are  cautious  and  timid,  and  occasionally  checked 
by  remorse.  As  they  begin  to  mingle  more  in  the 
world,  and  emerge  into  circles  of  gayety  and  plea- 
sure, finding  those  loose  ideas  countenanced  by 
too  general  practice,  they  gradually  become  bolder 
in  the  liberties  they  take. 

If  they  have  been  bred  to  business,  they  begin 
to  tire  of  industry,  and  look  with  contempt  on 
the  plodding  race  of  citizens.     If  they  are  of  su- 


•  175 

perior  rank,  they  think  it  becomes  them  to  resem- 
ble their  equals  ;  to  assume  that  freedom  of  beha- 
viour, that  air  of  forwardness,  that  tone  of  dissipa- 
tion, that  easy  negligence  of  those  with  whom  they 
converse,  which  appear  fashionable  in  high  life. 

If  affluence  or  fortune  unhappily  occur  to  fa- 
vour their  inclinations,  amusements  and  diversions 
succeed  in  a  perpetual  round  ;  night  and  day  are 
confounded;  gaming  fills  up  their  vacant  intervals; 
they  live  wholly  in  public  places;  they  run  into 
many  degrees  of  excess,  disagreeable  even  to 
themselves,  merely  from  a  weak  complaisance  and 
the  fear  of  being  ridiculed  by  their  loose  asso- 
ciates. 

Among  these  associates,  the  most  hardened  and 
determined  always  take  the  lead.  The  rest  follow 
them  with  implicit  submission ;  and  make  profi- 
ciency in  this  school  of  iniquity,  in  exact  propor- 
tion to  the  weakness  of  their  understandings,  and* 
the  strength  of  their  passions. 

How  many  pass  away  after  this  manner,  some 
of  the  most  valuable  years  of  their  life,  tost  in  a 
whirlpool  of  what  cannot  be  called  pleasure,  so 
much  as  mere  giddiness  and  folly !  In  the  habits 
of  perpetual  connexion  with  idle  or  licentious  com- 
pany, all  reflection  is  lost ;  while,  circulated  from 
one  empty  head,  and  one  thoughdess  heart  to 
another,  folly  shoots  up  into  all  its  most  ridicu- 
lous forms  ;  prompts  the  extravagant,  unmeaning 
frolic  in  private ;  or  sallies  forth  in  public  into  mad 
not;  impelled  sometimes  by  intoxication,  some- 
times by  mere  levity  of  spirits. 

All  the  while,  amidst  this  whole  course  of  ju- 
venile infatuation,  I  readily  admit,  that  much  good 
nature  may  still  remain.     Generosity  and  attach- 


,     176 

ments  may  be  found  :  nay,  some  awe  of  religion 
may  still  subsist,  and  some  remains  of  those  good 
impressions  which  were  made  upon  the  mind  in 
early  days. 

It  migiit  yet  be  very  possible  to  reclaim  such 
persons,  and  to  form  them  for  useful  and  respecta- 
ble stations  in  the  world,  if  virtuous  and  improv- 
ing society  shouW  happily  succeed  to  the  places 
of  that  idle  crew  with  whom  they  now  associate  ; 
if  important  business  should  occur,  to  bring  them 
into  a  different  sphere  of  action ;  or  if  some  sea- 
sonable stroke  of  affliction  should  in  mercy  be  sent, 
to  recall  them  to  themselves,  and  to  awaken  setious 
and  manly  thought. 

But,  if  youth  and  vigour,  and  flowing  fortune  con- 
tinue ;  if  a  similar  succession  of  companions  go  on 
to  amuse  them,  to  engross  their  time,  and  to  stir 
up  their  passions ;  the  day  of  ruin — let  them  take 
heed,  and  beware ! — the  day  of  irrecoverable  ruin, 
begins  to  draw  nigh.  Fortune  is  squandered; 
health  is  broken ;  friends  are  offended,  affronted, 
estranged  ;  and  aged  parents,  perhaps,  sent  afflict- 
ed and  mourning  to  the  dust. 


On  the  Duties  which  we  owe  to  Society 

Society  has  been  compared  to  a  heap  of  em 
bers,  which,  when  separated,  soon  languish,  darken, 
and  expire ;  but  if  placed  together,  glow  with  a 
warm  and  animated  heat. 


177 

That  our  happiness  depends  upon  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  social  duties,  and  upon  the  nurture  of 
susceptible  emotions,  none  but  the  misanthropist 
will  deny ;  for  so  gratifying  is  the  enjoyment  of 
participated  pleasures,  and  so  unsatisfactory  those 
in  which  no  one  claims  a  share,  that  from  motives 
of  polity  we  might  cherish  aftection,  and  from  self- 
ish considerations  try  to  gain  esteem. 

Abstract  the  man  of  virtue  and  benevolence  from 
society,  and  you  at  once  destroy  the  source  of  his 
delight,  blast  the  buds  of  promised  happiness,  and 
leave  a  dreary  vacuum  round  his  heart. 

The  benevolent  author  of  our  being,  so  consti- 
tuted and  ordained  our  nature,  that  we  should 
derive  felicity  from  communicating  happiness,  and 
experience  delight  from  imparting  joy;  and  shall 
we  ungraciously  counteract  his  benevolent  de- 
signs ;  and,  instead  of  contributing  to  the  happi- 
ness of  our  neighbour,  selfishly  attend  to  our  own 
gratifications  ? 

No  real  felicity  can  exist  independent  of  sus- 
ceptibility and  affection,  and  the  heart  of  him  who 
IS  cold  to  the  soothing  voice  of  friendship,  dead  to 
the  melting  strains  of  love,  and  insensible  to  the 
plaintive  pleadings  of  distress,  is  a  mansion  only 
calculated  for  demoniac  spirits,  or  a  cheerless  dwell- 
ingfor  disgust  and  spleen. 

The  advantages  derived  from  unanimity  and 
friendship,  are  so  many  and  apparent,  that  it 
seems  almost  impossible  to  believe  they  are  not 
universally  cultivated ;  and  every  day's  experi- 
ence must  convince  an  observing  mind",  that  every 
amiable  impression  springs  from  the  nurture  of 
philanthropy  and  benevolence ;  and  that  the  va- 
rious vices  which  disgrace  our  nature,  multiply 
in  proportion  to  the  decrease  of  domestic  bli?5 


178 

He  who  is  capable  of  despising  those  bonds  which 
consanguinity  and  affection  jointly  frame,  is  seldom 
proof  against  the  allurements  of  vice  ;  for  his  hear* 
IS  callous  to  the  voice  of  persuasion,  and  self-enjoy- 
ment is  the  only  object  of  his  desire. 

The  being  who  would  study  his  own  happiness, 
should  invariably  consider  that  of  others ;  and  by 
trying  to  augment  their  cup  of  felicity,  he  will  not 
fail  to  increase  his  own. 

The  savage  who  never  knew  the  blessings  of 
association,  and  he  who  quits  society  from  apathy 
or  spleen,  bear  an  equal  resemblance  to  the  sep- 
arated ember,  which  is  incapable  of  communica- 
ting either  warmth  or  light.  He  who  has  been 
accustomed  to  despise  the  feelings  of  the  son,  the 
husband,  and  the  friend,  and  to  laugh  at  those  ties 
which  embellish  human  nature,  imperceptibly  ac 
quires  a  ferocity  of  manners,  that  absolutely  de- 
grades the  very  name  of  man. 

It  should,  therefore,  be  early  inculcated  into 
the  minds  of  youth,  that  our  pleasures  and  en- 
joyment will  be  in  proportion  to  our  endeavours 
to  lighten  the  burden  of  our  fellow-creatures. 
Were  this  method  universally  adopted,  and  chil- 
dren taught  to  cherish  the  soft  affections,  how 
much  of  that  wanton  cruelty  would  be  avoided, 
which  so  frequently  disgraces  our  boyish  years ; 
and  what  is  still  more  lamentable,  occasions  a  cal- 
losity of  feeling  throughout  our  future  lives. 

Creatures  as  we  are  of  habit  and  custom,  how 
absolutely  essential  is  it  to  our  peace,  that  those 
which  are  acquired  before  the  judgment  is  en- 
lightened, should  uniformly  lead  to  the  practice  of 
virtue  I 


179 


Description  of  a  Cavern  in  Derbyshire, 
England,  called  the  Peak^s  Hole. 


Having  procured  the  proper  guide,  I  went 
to  see  the  famous  Peak's  Hole.  As  we  approach- 
ed this  wonderful  cavern,  we  crossed  a  bridge 
over  a  rivulet,  which  issues  from  the  mouth  of 
the  cave ;  this  mouth  is  at  the  bottom  of  a  perpen- 
dicular rock,  that  forms  part  of  the  front  of  the 
mountain.  The  form  of  this  part  of  the  mountain 
is  like  that  of  a  book  set  on  end,  and  half  opened, 
the  back  of  the  book  being  from  the  observer. 
Near  the  angle  is  the  mouth  of  the  cavern.  As 
we  proceeded  into  the  fissure,  I  looked  up  these 
rocky  walls,  and  saw  the  old  castle,  at  a  giddy 
height,  apparently  threatening  to  fall.  The  guide 
pointed  out  several  veins  of  lead.  The  entrance 
into  the  cavern  passes  close  under  the  right  side 
of  the  two  precipices,  which,  meeting  at  an  acute 
angle,  form  the  fissure  in  the  mountain.  Impres- 
sions of  sublimity  are  produced  by  looking  up  this 
precipice  of  250  feet  perpendicular  height,  and  a 
kind  of  horror  is  added  to  the  place  by  numerous 
jackdaws,  which  build  their  nests  in  the  c^vices, 
and  find  in  these  inaccessible  clifls  a  secure  ri^reat ; 
they  were  continually  flying  in  a  black  cloud 
around  the  rocks,  and  disturbing  the  air  with^^eir 
croaking.  These  rocks  are  lime-stone,  filled  with 
marine  exuviae.  We  now  entered  the  cavern.  It 
opens  with  a  grand  arch,  almost  mathematically 
regular,  but  the  abutment  on  the  left  is  considcra- 
IG 


,      180 

bly  lower  than  that  on  the  right.  This  arch  is 
120  feet  wide,  and  70  feet  high,  reckoning  from 
the  level  of  the  abutirent  on  the  left.  Under  this 
magnificent  portico,  we  entered  the  first  cavern, 
which  is  180  feet  long,  the  arch  falling  a  little  to- 
wards the  farther  end.  I  was  surprised  to  find  the 
cavern  inhabited.  A  number  of  poor  women  and 
children  carry  on  here  a  manufacture  of  cord  and 
twine,  and  some  of  them  live  here  permanently  in 
small  huts,  sheltered  by  the  impending  mountain. 
Having  arrived  at  the  end  of  this  first  cavern,  I 
looked  back  with  feelings  of  awe  and  solemnity, 
not  unmixed  with  something  very  much  like 
dread.  This  cavern  is  only  a  continuation  of  the 
great  arch  at  the  entrance,  falling  as  it  recedes 
from  the  light,  of  which  there  is,  however,  enough 
to  enable  one  to  see  the  whole  of  it,  and  to  make 
him  realize  that  a  mountain  is  over  his  head.  This 
arched  roof,  being  of  lime-stone,  abounds  with 
calcareous  concretions,  and  a  remarkable  one  was 
pointed  out,  which,  from  its  form,  and  the  manner 
in  whic4i  it  depends  from  the  roof,  is  called  the 
Flitch  of  Bacon. 

The  end  of  the  cavern  is  so  much  contracted 
in  its  dimensions,  that  it  has  been  completely  clo- 
sed up,  by  an  artificial  wall,  where  there  is  a  door, 
of  which  the  guide  has  the  key.  The  wall  and 
door  are  intended  to  exclude  impertinent  visiters  ; 
and  to  secure  to  the  guide  the  exclusive  privilege  of 
conducting  strangers  through  the  place. 

After  entering  the  door,  the  passage  became 
narrow  and  low,  and  we  proceeded,  stooping,  till 
we  arrived  in  a  place  called  the  Bdl  House,  from 
some  resemblance  betAveen  its  form  and  that  of  a 
bell. 


K 


181 

Beyond  this,  the  cavern  became  again  low  and 
narrow,  till  it  was  almost  closed,  leaving  only 
a  small  orifice  of  about  three  feet  diameter. 
Here  the  rivulet,  which  we  had  followed  up  from 
the  mouth  of  the  cave,  spread  into  a  little  lake, 
occupying  the  whole  of  the  bottom  of  the  cavern. 
But  we  were  not  stopped  ;  there  was  a  ferry-boat 
ready.  The  bottom  of  it  was  spread  with  clean 
straw,  and  by  the  direction  of  my  guide  I  got  into 
it,  and  lay  down  flat  on  my  back.  My  guide  step- 
ped into  the  water  up  to  his  knees,  and  pushed 
the  boat  before  him  through  the  narrow  aperture, 
which  was  merely  high  enough  to  permit  the  boat 
to  pass,  and  the  guide  to  crawl  after  it.  It  would 
be  impossible  for  one  to  pass  if  sitting  up  in  the 
boat. 

We  had  now  arrived  in  a  new  cavern,  much 
larger  and  more  majestic  than  any  which  we  had 
yet  seen.  A  flood  of  light  was  necessary  to  ren- 
der it  all  visible,  for  it  was  120  feet  high,  200 
broad,  and  250  feet  lon^.  Its  walls  were  lime- 
stone, filled  as  before  with  shells.  Crossing  the 
rivulet  on  stepping  stones,  we  next  found  ourselves 
in  a  small  cavern,  which,  on  account  of  the  con- 
stant exudation  of  water  from  the  roof,  is  called 
Roger  Rain's  House. 

A  large  cavern,  called  the  Chancel,  came  next. 
Its  appearance  was  broken  and  rude,  and  the 
lights  discovered  some  stalactites.  When  the 
guide  has  notice  that  a  party  is  coming  to  view 
the  cavern,  he  causes  a  piece  of  deception  to  be 
played  off"  in  the  Chancel,  which  I,  being  a  solita- 
ly  stranger,  had  not  the  pleasure  of  witnessing. 
When  the  party  arrive  at  this  cavern,  they  are 
on  a  sudden,  astonished  and  confounded  at  hear- 
ing from  the  roof  of  this  solitary  mansion,  wiiich 


182 

a  moment  before  was  dark  as  midnight,  and  silent 
as  the  tombs,  an  instantaneous  burst  of  human 
voices,  multiplied  by  a  thousand  echoes.  While 
they  are  in  vain  looking  for  the  cause  of  this 
seeming  enchantment,  a  blaze  of  light  from  the 
roof  of  the  cavern,  discovers  a  number  of  figures  in 
white,  singing  and  bearing  torches  in  their  hands 
Those  who  are  not  in  the  secret,  are  almost  per- 
suaded that  they  are  in  an  enchanted  cave,  where 
the  sceaes  of  romance  and  fable  have  real  exist- 
ence. The  delusion  vanishes,  however,  when  they 
are  informed,  that  a  number  of  people  from  the 
village,  equipped  on  purpose,  have  gone  up  a  se- 
cret passage  to  the  roof  of  the  Chancel,  with  con- 
cealed lights,  which,  at  the  concerted  moment, 
they  suddenly  produce. 

We  travelled  on  to  a  fissure  in  the  rock,  called 
the  DevWs  Cellar,  and  after  descending  gradually 
150  feet,  we  came  to  the  half  way  house.  The 
roof  now  assumed  greater  regularity ;  three  par- 
allel arches  were  in  view,  and  beyond  these,  a  ca- 
vern like  a  bell  called  Tom  of  Lincoln.  Proceed- 
ing, we  found  the  cavern  very  various,  both  in 
height  and  breadth ;  the  rivulet  appeared  perfectly 
transparent,  and  its  bed  was  white  with  calca- 
reous spar,  brought  down  and  rounded  by  the 
water. 

At  last,  we  reached  the  end  of  this  grand  sub- 
terranean wonder.  Its  whole  length  is  2250  feet, 
or  nearly  half  a  mile. 

We  now  retraced  our  steps.  [  was  again  laid 
in  the  little  boat,  and  ferried  th  )ugh  the  narrow 
passage ; — we  travelled  back  as  %st  as  we  could 
with  safety,  and  with- candles  bu»fnt  down  to  our 
fingers,  again  reached  the  wooder  door,  and  open 


83 


ing  it,  I  beheld  the  hght,  with  a  little  secret  joy^ 
which,  had  I  been  questioned,  I  might  have  been 
too  stout-hearted  to  have  acknowledged 


The  Sun. 


In  meditating  on  the  wonderful  works  of  God, 
the  first  object  whicii  generally  strikes  the  attention, 
is  that 'glorious  luminary,  the  Sun.  It  appears 
to  dwell  in  the  heavens  as  in  a  grand  pavilion. 
The  form  of  it  is  nearly,  if  not  quite  spherical.  Its 
magnitude  is  great  indeed !  The  diameter  of  it  is 
computed  to  be  890,000  miles,  which  is  more  than 
equal  to  a  hundred  diameters  of  our  earth.  But 
what  its  substance  is,  whether  it  be  a  liquid  or  a 
solid  globe,  who  can  tell  ? 

The  distance  of  the  sun  from  our  earthly  abode 
is  truly  astonishing;  it  being  more  than  ninety 
millions  of  miles!  a  distance  so  prodigious,  that  a 
cannon  ball,  flying  at  the  rate  of  four  hundred  and 
eighty  miles  an  hour,  would  not  reach  us  in  nine- 
teen years.  And  yet  the  rays  of  light  which 
issue  from  it,  are  said  to  be  no  longer  than  seven 
or  eight  mmutes  in  their  passage — a  rapidity  so 
stupendous,  as  to  be  nearly  equal  to  seven  times 
the  circumference  of  our  world  in  a  minute.  Our 
merciful  Creator  has  placed  the  earth  at  the  most 
convenient  distance  from  the  sun,  near  enough  to 
be  sufficiently  warmed  by  it,  yet  not  so  near  as  to 
.    16* 


184 

be  consumed.  The  sun  now  is  generally  acknow 
ledged  to  be  in  the  centre  of  our  system  :  it  does 
i>ot  perform  a  circuit  round  the  earth,  as,  from  ap- 
pearances, we  would  naturally  conclude,  and  as 
the  ancient  philosophers  supposed : — it  revolves 
only  round  its  own  axis ;  and  does  this  once  in 
the  space  of  twenty-five  days  and  six  hours.  Va- 
rious experiments  have  produced  evidences  in  favour 
of  the  present,  or,  as  it  is  commonly  called,  the  Co- 
pernican  hypothesis;  and  such,  indeed,  as  almost 
to  amount  to  demonstration.  To  these  testimonies 
may  be  subjoined  the  doctrine  of  eclipses.  The 
causes  of  eclipses  is  obvious  :  w  hen  the  moon  pas- 
ses between  the  earth  and  the  sun,  so  as  to  inter- 
cept his  rays,  he  is  said  to  be  eclipsed.  This 
never  happens  but  at  the  time  of  new  moon ;  be- 
cause it  is  only  then  that  she  passes  between  the 
sun  and  the  earth.  When  the  earth  is  interposed 
between  the  moon  and  the  sun,  then  the  moon  is 
eclipsed,  and  this  is  only  at  the  time  of  the  full 
moon. 

Who  can  think  of  the  vast  bulk  of  the  sun  with- 
out calling  to  mind  its  glorious  Creator?  He  is 
emphatically  styled,  "  the  Father  of  Lights."  If 
the  material  sun  be  so  great,  how  inconceivably 
great  must  He  be  who  spake,  and  it  was  made, 
who  commanded,  and  it  stood  fast!  The  fixed 
stars  also,  which,  on  account  of  their  immense  dis- 
tance, appear  to  us  so  very  small,  are,  it  is  very 
probable,  so  many  suns  equal  in  magnitude  to 
ours,  and  answering  the  same  purposes  in  other 
systems,  as  ours  does  in  this.  Each  of  them  seems 
formed  to  communicate  light  and  heat  to  a  certain 
number  of  inhabited  planets,  kept  by  gravitation 
within  the  sphere  of  its  activity.  "  With  what  an 
august  conception  does  this  furnish  us  of  the  works 


185 

of  the  Creator !  Thousands  of  thousands  of  suns, 
attended  by  ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand 
worlds,  all  in  rapid  motion,  yet  calm,  regular,  and 
harmonious,  invariably  keeping  the  paths  pre- 
scribed them ;  and  those  worlds  peopled  with 
myriads  of  intelligent  beings!  O  how  great,  how 
wise,  how  good,  must  He  be,  who  made  and  go 
verns  the  whole  !" 


A  Good  Co7iscie?ice. 


What  is  there  in  all  the  pomp  of  the  world, 
and  the  enjoyment  of  luxury,  or  the  gratification  of 
passion,  comparable  to  the  tranquil  delight  of  a 
good  conscience  ?  It  is  the  health  of  the  mind. 
It  is  a  sweet  perfume  that  diffuses  its  fragrance 
over  every  thing  near  it  without  exhausting  its 
store.  Unaccompanied  by  this,  the  gay  plea- 
sures of  the  world  are  like  brilliants  to  a  diseased 
eye,  music  to  a  deaf  ear,  wine  in  an  ardent  fever, 
or  dainties  in  the  languor  of  an  ague. 

To  lie  down  on  the  pillow  after  a  day  spent  in 
temperance,  in  beneficence,  and  piety,  how  sweet 
is  it  1  How  different  from  the  state  of  him  who 
rechnes  at  an  unnatural  hour,  with  his  blood  in- 
flamed, his  head  throbbing  with  wine  and  gluttony, 
his  heart  aching  with  rancorous  malice,  his 
thoughts  totally  estranged  from  Him  who  has 
protected  him  in  the  day,  and  will  watch  over  him, 
ungrateful  as  he  is,  in  the  night  season !  A  good 
conscience  is  indeed  the  peace  of  God. 


186 

Passions  lulled  to  sleep,  clear  thoughts,  a  cheer- 
ful temper,  a  disposition  to  be  pleased  with  every 
obvious  and  innocent  object  around  ;  these  are  the 
effects  of  a  good  conscience  ;  these  constitute 
happiness ;  and  these  condescend  to  dwell  with 
the  poor  man,  in  his  humble  cottage,  in  the  vale 
of  obscurity.  In  the  magnificent  mansion  of  the 
proud  and  vain,  glitter  the  exteriors  of  happi- 
ness,— the  gilding,  the  trappings,  the  pride,  and  the 
pomp ;  but  in  the  decent  habitation  of  piety  is 
oftener  found  the  downy  nest  of  heavenly  peace  ; 
that  solid  good,  of  which  the  parade  of  the  vain, 
the  frivolous,  and  the  voluptuous,  is  but  a  shadowy 
semblance. 


To  the  Sea. 

Hail]  thou  inexhaustible  source  of  wonder  and 
contemplation  ! — Hail !  thou  multitudinous  ocean ! 
whose  waves  chase  one  another  down  hke  the 
generations  of  men,  and  after  a  momentary  space, 
are  immerged  for  ever  in  oblivion. — Thy  fluctu- 
ating waters  wash  the  varied  shores  of  the  world, 
and  while  they  disjoin  nations  whom  a  nearer  con- 
nexion might  involve  in  continued  war,  they  cir- 
culate their  arts,  and  their  labours,  and  give  health 
and  plenty  to  mankind. 

How  glorious !  how  awful  are  the  scenes  thou 
jdisplayest,  whether  we  view  thee  when  every 
wind  is  hushed, — when  the  morning  sun  silvers 
the  level  line  of  the  horizon, — or  when  its  evening 
track  is  marked  with  shiniijg  gold,  and  thy  unrip 


187 

pled  bosom  reflects  the  radiance  of  the  over-arching 
heavens  ! — or  whether  we  behold  thee  in  thy  ter- 
rors ! — when  the  black  tempest  sweeps  thy  swell^s 
ing  billows,  and  the  boiling  surge  mixes  with  the 
clouds, — when  death  rides  the  storm, — and  hu- 
manity drops  a  fruitless  tear  for  the  toiling  mariner 
whose  heart  is  sinking  with  dismay  ! 

And  yet,  mighty  deep  !  'tis  thy  surface  alone  we 
view — who  can  penetrate  the  secrets  of  thy  wide 
domain? — What  eye  can  visit  thy  immense  rocks 
and  caverns,  that  teem  with  life  and  vegetation? — 
Or  search  out  the  myriads  of  objects,  whose  beau- 
ties lie  scattered  over  thy  dread  abyss  ? 

The  mind  staggers  with  the  immensity  of  her 
own  conception, — and  when  she  contemplates  the 
flux  and  reflux  of  thy  tides,  which  from  the  begin- 
ning of  the  world  continue  their  regular  course, 
how  does  she  shrink  at  the  idea  of  that  Divine 
Power,  which  originally  laid  thy  foundations  so 
sure,  and  whose  omnipotent  voice  hath  fixed  the 
limits  where  thy  proud  waves  shall  be  stayed ! 


Dr,  Dodcfs  Address  to  the  Court  before  he 
received  sentence  of  Death. 

My  Lord, — I  now  stand  before  j^ou  a  dreadful 
example  of  human  infirmity.  I  entered  upon  pub- 
lic life  with  the  expectations  common  to  young 
men  whose  education  has  been  liberal,  and  whose 
abilities  have  been  flattered,  and,  when  I  became 
a  clergyman,  considered  myself  as  not  impairing 


188 

the  dignity  of  the  order.  I  was  not  an  idle,  nor,  I 
hope,  an  useless,  minister.  I  taught  the  truths  of 
Christianity  with  the  zeal  of  conviction,  and  the 
authority  of  innocence.  My  labours  were  ap- 
proved; my  pulpit  became  popular;  and  I  have 
reason  to  believe,  that  of  those  who  heard  me, 
some  have  been  preserved  from  sin,  and  some  have 
been  reclaimed.  Condescend,  my  lord,  to  thhik, 
if  these  considerations  aggravate  my  crime,  how 
much  they  must  imbitter  my  punishment. 

Being  distinguished  and  elated  by  the  confi- 
dence of  mankind,  I  h^d  too  much  confidence  in 
myself:  and  thinking  my  integrity  what  others 
thought  it,  established  in  sincerity,  and  fortified  by 
religion,  I  did  not  consider  the  danger  of  vanity, 
nor  suspect  the  deceitfulness  of  my  own  heart. 
The  day  of  conflict  came,  in  which  temptation  sur- 
prised and  overwhelmed  me.  I  committed  the 
crime,  which  I  entreat  your  lordship  to  believe  that 
my  conscience  hourly  represents  to  me  in  its  full 
bulk  of  mischief  and  malignity.  Many  have  been 
overpowered  by  temptation,  who  now  are  among 
the  penitent  in  heaven. 

To  an  act  now  waiting  the  decision  of  vindic- 
tive justice,  I  will  not  presume  to  oppose  the  coun- 
terbalance of  almost  thirty  years,  (a  great  part  of 
the  life  of  man)  passed  in  exciting  and  exercising 
charity  :  in  relieving  such  distresses  as  I  now  feel, 
in  administering  those  consolations  which  I  now 
want.  I  will  not  otherwise  extenuate  my  offence, 
than  by  declaring,  what  many  circumstances  make 
probable,  that  I  did  not  intend  to  be  finally  fraudu- 
lent. Nor  will  it  become  me  to  apportion  my 
punishment,  by  alleging  that  my  sufferings  have 
been  not  much  less  than  my  guilt.     I  have  fallen 


189 

from  reputation,  which  ought  to  have  made  me 
cautious  ;  and  from  a  fortune,  which  ought  to  have 
given  me  content.  1  am  sunk  at  once  into  poverty 
and  scorn  ;  my  name  and  my  crime  fill  the  ballads 
in  the  street,  the  sport  of  the  thoughtless,  and  the 
triumph  «f  the  wicked. 

It  may  seem  strange  that,  remembering  what  I 
have  lately  been,  I  should  wish  to  continue  what 
I  am.  But  contempt  of  death,  how  speciously  so- 
ever it  might  mingle  with  heathen  virtues,  has 
nothing  suitable  to  Christian  penitence.  Many 
motives  impel  me  to  beg  earnestly  for  life.  I  feci 
the  natural  horror  of  a  violent  death,  and  the  uni- 
versal dread  of  untimely  dissolution.  I  am  desi- 
rous of  recompensing  the  injury  I  have  done  to  the 
clergy,  to  the  world,  and  to  religion,  and  to  efface 
the  scandal  of  my  crime  by  the  example  of  my  re- 
pentance. But  above  all, I  wish  to  die  with  thoughts 
more  composed,  and  calmer  preparation.  The 
gloom  of  a  prison,  the  anxiety  of  a  trial,  and  the 
inevitable  vicissitudes  of  passion,  leave  the  mind* 
little  disposed  to  the  holy  exercises  of  prayer  and 
self-examination  :  Let  not  a  little  time  be  denied 
me,  in  which  I  may,  by  meditation  and  contrition, 
be  prepared  to  stand  at  th#  tribunal  of  Omnipo- 
tence, and  support  the  presence  of  that  Judge  who 
will  distribute  to  all  according  to  their  works,  who 
will  receive  to  pardon  the  repenting  sinner,  and 
from  whom  the  merciful  shall  obtain  mercy. 

For  these  reasons,  amidst  shame  and  misery,  I 
yet  wish  to  live  :  and  most  humbly  entreat,  that  I 
may  be  recommended  by  your  lordship,  to  the 
clemency  of  his  majesty. 


190 


Address  on  Patriotism, 


It  cannot  then  be  denied,  that  the  pubHc  pros- 
perity of  our  land  depends  upon  the  virtue  of  the 
people,  and  that  the  practice  of  vice,  like  a  cancer 
in  the  natural  body,  will  at  last  extend  itself  to  the 
vitals  of  the  country,  and  cut  off  our  national  ex- 
istence. If  this  be  the  case,  we  may  safely  assert, 
that  no  man  loves  his  country,  who  lives  in  the 
habitual  violation  of  any  rule  in  her  moral  code  ; 
because,  by  so  doing  he  contributes  his  aid  to 
accomplish  her  destruction.  He  may  call  himself 
a  federalist,  or  an  anti-federalist — a  republican 
or  a  democrat- — or  whatever  else  he  pleases ;  it  is 
certain,  he  is  but  a  pretender  to  the  character  of  a 
patriot.  It  is  impossible  he  can  love  his  country, 
whose  life  and  actions  are  hostile  to  her  true  in- 
terests. Party  and  personal  prejudices  he  may 
possess  in  abundance,  which  to  the  world,  and 
perhaps  to  himself,  he  may  cover  with  the  mantle 
of  zeal  for  the  public  good.  But  the  love  of  his 
country  is  a  stranger  to  his  heart. 

Examine  for  a  moment,  the  force  of  this  obser- 
vation, by  your  own  experience  in  private  life. 
Suppose  one  of  your  neighbours  to  profess  a  re- 
gard and  affection  for  you,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  make  a  practice  of  thwarting  your  views  and 
defeating  the  plans  you  had  laid  to  promote  your 
happiness  or  your  interest.  There  is  no  doubt 
you  would  despise  his  professions,  and  call  him  a 
hypocrite. 


191 

Nor  can  he  be  pronounced  any  thing  better, 
who  tells  yon  he  loves  his  country,  and  is  at  the 
same  time  habitually  infringing  those  laws,  on 
which  her  safety  and  prosperity  essentially  de- 
pend. Away  with  such  patriotism  !  it  is  "  Hail, 
Master !"  with  the  lips,  and  at  the  same  instant  a 
stab  to  the  heart.  I  call  that  man  a  disorganizer, 
let  his  political  principles  be  what  they  may,  who 
is  spreading  through  the  moral  world  the  seeds  of 
disorder  and  vice,  and  thereby  sapping  the  foun- 
dation of  all  government. 

Our  country  may  well  expostulate  with  the  im- 
moral man  in  the  language  used  of  old  time — "If 
you  love  me  you  will  keep  my  commandments — 
Ye  are  my  friends  if  ye  do  whatsoever  I  command 
you."  In  short,  as  in  Christianity,  so  it  is  in  pa^ 
triotism — obedience  is  the  unerring  criterion,  the 
sole  decisive  mark  of  affection.  If  you  really  love 
your  country,  you  will  -observe  her  laws  and  her 
statutes,  which  are  framed  to  promote  and  to  per- 
petuate her  welfare.  Believe  me,  a  gambling, 
lying,  drunken,  or  swearing  patriot,  is  as  great  a 
contradiction,  as  a  dissolute,  swearing,  or  drunkea 
Christian ;  though  in  the  practical  estimation  of 
the  two  characters,  mankind  have  made  a  wide 
difference.  The  hypocritical  pretensions  of  the 
patriot  are  too  often  successfully  played  off,  while 
those  of  the  pretended  Christian  are  sure  to 
exclude  him  from  the  character. 

It  is  readily  acknowledged,  that  immoral  men 
often  render  essential  service  to  their  country. 
Some  of  the  most  worthless  and  profligate  of  the 
human  race  have  been  the  honoured  instruments 
in  the  hands  of  Providence  of  procuring  the  great- 
est national  blessings.  Henry  the  Eighth,  and 
17 


192 

the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  contributed  eminently 
by  their  actions  to  the  glory  and  preservation  of 
the  English  nation ;  but  no  body  ever  supposed 
they  vi^ere  influenced  by  a  love  of  their  country. 
Caprice,  promotion,  or  the  whistling  of  a  name, 
has  given  birth  to  the  greatest  achievements  re- 
corded in  history.  What  would  you  think  of  a 
man  who,  in  the  very  act  of  conferring  a  favour 
on  an  acquaintance,  should  inflict  the  most  deadly 
wounds  on  his  person  ? — ^Would  you  beheve  he 
had  any  affection  for  his  murdered  friend  ? — You 
certainly  would  not.  Just  so  much  true  patriot- 
ism has  that  man  who,  by  his  vices,  is  daily  dif- 
fusing through  society  the  most  malignant  poison, 
and  at  the  same  time,  from  pride  or  some  other 
motive,  perfectly  compatible  with  a  heart  dead  to 
every  sentiment  of  public  virtue,  is  occasionally 
performing  an  act  that  redounds  to  his  country's 
welfare. 

The  true  notion  of  patriotism,  is  a  principle  of 
obedience  to  the  laws  of  God,  and  of  our  country, 
manifesting  itself  in  the  discharge  of  our  religious, 
moral,  and  social  duties. — This  is  substantial  pa- 
triotism, within  the  reach  of  every  man,  high  and 
low,  rich  and  poor,  and  that  does  not  evaporate 
in  empty  noise  about  the  Rights  of  Man,  or  the 
Virtue  oLFederalism. 


193 


Exhortation  to  Temperance  in  Pleasure, 


Let  me  particularly  exhort  youth  to  temper- 
ance in  pleasure.  Let  me  admonish  them,  to 
beware  of  that  rock  on  which  thousands,  from 
race  to  race,  continue  to  split.  The  love  of  plea- 
Sure,  natural  to  man  in  every  period  of  his  life, 
glows  at  this  age  with  excessive  ardour.  Novelty 
a«ys  fresh  charms,  as  yet,  to  every  gratification. 
The  world  appears  to  spread  a  continual  feast; 
and  health,  vigor,  and  high  spirits,  invite  them  to 
partake  of  it  without  restraint.  In  vain  we  warn 
them  of  latent  dangers.  Religion  is  accused  of 
insufferable  severity,  in  prohibiting  enjoyment : 
and  the  old,  when  they  offer  their  admonitions, 
are  upbraided  with  having  forgotten  that  they 
once  were  young. 

And  yet,^ny  friends,  to  what  do  the  restraints 
of  religion,  and  the  counsels  of  age,  with  respect 
to  pleasure,  amount?  They  may  all  be  com- 
prised in  a  few  words ; — not  to  hurt  yourselves,  and 
not  to  hurt  others,  by  your  pursuit  of  pleasure. 
Within  these  bounds,  pleasure  is  lawful ;  beyond 
them,  it  becomes  criminal,  because  it  is  ruinous. 
Are  these  restraints  any  other  than  what  a  wise 
man  would  choose  to  impose  on  himself?  We 
call  you  not  to  renounce  pleasure,  but  to  enjoy  it 
in  safety.  Instead  of  abridging  it,  we  exhort  you 
to  pursue  it  on  an  extensive  plan.  We  propose 
measures  for  securing  its  possession,  and  for  pro- 
longing its  duration. 


,     194 

Consult  yoiir  whole  nature.  Consider  yourselves 
not  only  as  sensitive,  but  as  rational  beings ;  not 
only  as  rational,  but  as  social ;  not  only  as  social, 
but  as  immortal.  Whatever  violates  your  nature,  in 
any  of  these  respects,  cannot  afford  true  pleasure, 
any  more  than  that  v^hich  undermines  an  essen- 
tial part  of  the  vital  system  can  promote  health. 
For  the  truth  of  this  conclusion,  v^e  appeal,  not 
merely  to  the  authority  of  religion,  nor  to  the 
testimony  of  the  aged,  but  to  yourselves  and  your 
own  experience.  We  ask,  whether  you  have  not 
found,  that  in  a  course  of  criminal  excess,  youi 
pleasure  was  more  than  compensated  by  succeed 
ing  pain  ?  Whether,  if  not  from  every  particular 
instance,  yet  from  every  habit,  at  least,  of  unlaw- 
ful gratification,  there  did  not  spring  some  thoru||x 
to  wound  you;  there  did  not  arise  some  con^e-y^ 
quence  to  make  you  repent  of  it  in  the  issue  ?       *  ^ 

"  How  long  then,  ye  simple  ones  !  will  ye  love 
simplicity  ?"  How  long  repeat  the  same  round  of 
pernicious  folly,  and  tamely  expose  yourselves  to 
be  caught  in  the  same  snare  ?  If  you  have  -any 
consideration,  or  any  firmness  left,  avoid  tempta- 
tions for  which  you  have  found  yourselves  une-»^ 
qual,  with  as  much  care  as  you  would  shun  pesti- 
lential infection.  Break  off  all  connexions  with 
the  loose  and  profligate.  "  When  sinners  entice 
thee,  consent  thou  not.  Look  not  on  the  wine 
when  it  is  red,  when  it  giveth  its  colour  in  the  cup ; 
for  at  the  last,  it  biteth  like  a  serpent,  and  stingeth 
like  an  adder." 

By  these  unhappy  excesses  of  irregular  pleasure 
in  youth,  how  many  amiable  dispositions  are  cor- 
rupted or  destroyed?  How  many  rising  capaci- 
ties and  powers   are   suppressed!    How  many 


195 

/lattering  hopes  of  parents  and  friends  are  totally 
extinguished  !  Who  but  must  drop  a  tear  over 
human  nature,  when  he  beholds  that  morning 
which  arose  so  bright,  overcast  with  such  untimely 
darkness  ;  that  good  humour  which  once  capti- 
vated all  hearts  ;  that  vivacity  which  sparkled  in 
every  company  ;  those  abilities  which  were  fitted 
for  adorning  the  highest  station,  all  sacrificed  at 
the  shrine  of  low  sensuality ;  and  one,  who  was 
formed  for  running  the  fair  career  of  life  in  the 
midst  of  public  esteem,  cut  off  by  his  vices  at 
the  beginning  of  his  course,  or  sunk,  for  the  whole 
oi?it,  into  insignificancy  and  contempt !  These, 
O  sinful  pleasure  !  are  thy  trophies.  It  is  thus, 
that,  co-operating  with  the  foe  of  God  and  man, 
thou  degrade  St  human  nature,  and  blastest  the 
opening  prospects  of  human  felicity. 


The  Price  of  a  Victory, 


Good  news  !  great  news !  glorious  news  !  cried 
young  Oswald,  as  he  entered  his  father*s  house. 
We  have  obtainecia  great  victory,  and  have  killed 
I  don't  know  how  many  thoij^ands  of  the  enemy : 
and  we  are  to  have  bonfires  and  illuminations  ! 

And  so,  said  his'  father,  you  think  that  killing 
many  thousands  of  human  creatures  is  a  thing  to 
be  very  glad  about  ?         ^., 


196 


OSWALD.  " 

No — ^I  do  not  think  so,  neither  ;  but  surely  it  is 
right  to  be  glad  that  our  country  has  gained  a 
great  advjintage. 

FATHER. 

No  doubt  it  is  right  to  wish  well  to  our  country, 
as  far  as  its  prosperity  can  be  promoted  without 
injuring  the  rest  of  maiakind.  But  wars  are  very 
seldom  to  the  real  advantage  of  any  nation  ;  and 
when  they  are  ever  so  useful  or  necessary,  so  many 
dreadful  evils  attend  them,  that  a  humane  man  will 
scarcely  rejoice  in  them,  if  he  considers  at  all  on 
the  subject. 

OSWALD. 

But  if  our  enemies  would  do  us  a  great  deal  of 
mischief,  and  we  prevent  it  by  beating  them,  have 
we  not  a  right  to  be  glad  of  it  ? 

FATHER. 

Alas!  we  are  in  general* incompetent  judges 
which  of  the  parties  has  the  most  mischievous  in- 
tentions. Commonly  they  are  both  in  the  wrong, 
and  success  will  make  both  of  them  unjust  and 
unreasonable.  But  putting  that  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, he  who  rejoices  in  the  event  of  a  battle,  re- 
joices in  the  misery  of  many  thousands  of  his  spe- 
cies ;  and  the  thought  of  that  should  make  him 
pause  a  little.  Suppose  a  surgeon  were  to  come 
with  a  smiling  countenance,  and  tell  us  triumph- 
antly that  he  had  cut  off  half  a  dozen  legs  to- 
day—what would  you  think  of  him  ? 

OSWALD. 

I  should  think  hiii!  very  hard-hearted. 

FATHER. 

And  yet  those  operations  are  done  for  the  bene- 
$t  of  the  sjufferers^  and  by  their  own  desire.    But 


197 

in  battle,  the  probability  is,  that*hone  of  those  en- 
gaged on  either  side  have  any  interest  at  all  in 
the  cause  they  are  fighting  for,  and  most  of  them 
come  there  because  they  cannot  "help  it.  In  this 
battle  that  you  are  so  rejoiced  about,  there  have 
been  ten  thousand  men  killed  upon  the  spot,  and 
nearly  as  many  wounded.  <^ 

OSW^ALD.  ^ 

On  both  sides. 

FATHER. 

Yes — but  they  are  men  on  both  sides.  "  Consid- 
er nov^r,  that  the  ten  thousand  sent  out  of  the 
world  in  this  morning's  work,  though  they  are 
past  feeling  themselves,  have  -left  probably  two 
persons  each,  on  an  average,  to  lament  their  loss, 
either  parents,  wives,  or  children.  Here  are  then 
twenty  thousand  people  made  unhappy  at  one 
stroke  on  their  account.  This,  however,  is  hardly 
so  dreadful  to  think  of  as  the  condition  of  the 
wounded.  At  the  moment  we  are  talking,  eight 
or  ten  thousand  men  are  lying  in  agony,  torn  with 
shot  or  gashed  with  cuts,  their  wounds  festering, 
some  hourly  to  die  a  most  excruciating  death, 
others  to  linger  in  torture  weeks  and  months,  and 
many  doomed  to  drag  on  a  miserable  existence 
for  the  rest  of  their  lives,  with  diseased  and  muti- 
lated bodies.  *  -  .^ 
OSWALD,  ^i^lSilP^ 

This  is  shocking  to  think  of,  indeed ! 

FATHER. 

When  you  light  your  candles,  then,  this  evening, 
think  what  they  cost. 


198 

The  two  Robbers, 


ALEXANDER  THE  GREAT. 

What  !  art  thou  the  Thracian  robber,  of  whose 
exploits  I  have  heard  so  much  ? 

ROBBER. 

I  am  a  Thracian,  and  a  soldier. 

ALEXANDER. 

A  soldier! — a  thief,  a  plunderer,  an  assassin,  the 
pest  of  the  country !  I  could  honour  thy  courage, 
but  I  must  detest  and  punish  thy  crimes. 

ROBBER. 

What  have  I  done  "of  which  you  can  complain  ? 

ALEXANDER. 

Hast  thou  not  set  at  defiance  my  authority  ? 
violated  the  public  peace,  and  passed  thy  life  in 
injuring  the  persons  and  properties  of  thy  fellow 
subjects  ? 

ROBBER. 

Alexander,  I  am  your  captive;  I  must  hear 
what  you  please  to  say,  and  endure  what  you  please 
to  inflict.  But  my  soul  is  unconquered  ;  and  if  1 
reply  at  all  to  your  reproaches,  I  will  reply  like  a 
free  man.  ^1^ 

ALEXANDER^*^ 

Speak  freely.  Far  be  it  irom  me  to  take  the 
advantage  of  my  power,  to  silence  those  with  whom 
I  deign  to  converse. 

ROBBER. 

I  must  then  answer  your  question  by  another 
How  have  you  passed  your  life  ? 

ALEXANDER. 

Like  a  hero.  Ask  Fame,  and  she  will  tell  thee. 
Among  the  brave,  I  have  been  the  bravest ;  among 


199 

sovereigns,  the  noblest;    among  conquerors,  the 
mightiest. 

ROBBER. 

And  does  not  fame  speak  of  me,  too?  Was 
there  ever  a  bolder  captain  of  a  more  valiant  band  ? 
Was  there  ever? — But  I  scorn  to  boast.  You 
yourself  know  that  I  have  not  been  easily  sub- 
dued. 

ALEXANDER. 

Still,  what  art  thou  but  a  robber — a  base,  dis- 
honest robber  ? 

ROBBER. 

And  what  is  a  conqueror  ?  Have  not  you,  too, 
gone  about  the  earth  like  an  evil  genius,  blasting 
the  fair  fruits,  of  peace  and  industry :  plundering, 
ravaging,  killing  without  law,  without  justice, 
merely  to  gratify  an  insatiable  lust  for  dominion  ? 
All  that  I  have  done  to  a  single  district,  with  a 
Qundred  followers,  you  have  done  to  whole  na- 
Uons,  with  a  hundred  thousand.  If  I  have  strip- 
oed  individuals,  you  have  ruined  kings  and  prin- 
ces. If  I  have  burned  a  few  hamlets,  you  have 
desolated  the  most  flourishing  kingdoms  and  cities 
of  the  earth.  What  is  then  the  difference,  but 
that  as  you  were  born  a  king,  and  I  a  private  man, 
you  have  been  able  to  become  a  mightier  robber 
than  I? 

ALEXANDER. 

But,  if  I  have  taken  like  a  king,  I  have  given 
like  a  king.  If  I  have  subverted  empires,  I  have 
founded  greater.  I  have  cherished  arts,  commerce, 
and  philosophy. 

ROBBER. 

I,  too,  have  freely  given  to  the  poor,  what  I 
took  from  the  rich.  I  have  established  order  and 
discipline  among  the  most  ferocious  of  mankind ; 


200 

and  have  stretched  out  my  protecting  arm  over 
the  oppressed.  I  know,  indeed,  little  of  the  phi- 
losophy you  talk  of;  but  I  believe  neither  you  nor 
I  shall  ever  atone  to  the  world  for  the  mischief  we 
have  done  it. 

ALEXANDER. 

Leave  me — Take  off  his  chains,  and  use  him 
well. — Are  we  then  so  much  alike  ? — Alexander  to 
a  robber  ? — Let  me  reflect. 


Fernando  Cortez  and  William  Penn, 


CORTEZ. 

Is  it  possible,  William  Penn,  that  you  should 
seriously  compare  your  glory  with  mine?  The 
planter  of  a  small  colony  in  North  America,  pre- 
sume to  vie  with  the  conqueror  of  the  great  Mexi- 
can empire  ? 

PENN. 

Friend,  I  pretend  to  no  glory — the  Lord  pre- 
serve me  from  it — All  glory  is  his  ; — but  this  I 
say,  that  I  was  his  instrument  in  a  more  glorious 
work  than  that  performed  by  thee ;  incomparably 
more  glorious. 

CORTEZ. 

Dost  thou  not  know,  William  Penn,  that  with 
less  than  six  hundred  Spanish  foot,  eighteen  horse, 
and  a  few  small  pieces  of  cannon,  I  fought  and  de- 
feated innumerable  armies  of  very  brave  men,  de- 
throned an  emperor  who  had  been  raised  to  the 
throne  by  his  valour,  and  excelled  all  his  coun 


201  .    ^ 

tirmen  in  the  science  of  war,  as  much  as  they  ex- 
celled all  the  rest  of  the  West  Indian  nations? 
that  I  made  him  my  prisoner  in  his  own  capital ; 
and  after  he  had  been  deposed  and  slain  by  his 
subjects,  vanquished  and  took  Guatimozin,  his 
successor,  and  accomplished  my  conquest  of  the 
whole  empire  of  Mexico,  which  I  loyally  annexed 
to  the  Spanish  crown  ?  Dost  thou  not  know,  that 
in  doing  these  wonderful  acts,  I  showed  as  much 
courage  as  Alexander  the  Great,  as  much  pru- 
dence as  Caesar  ?  That,  by  my  policy,  I  ranged 
under  my  banner  the  powerful  commonwealths  of 
Tlascala,  and  brought  them  to  assist  me  in  subdu- 
ing the  Mexicans,  though  with  the  loss  of  their  own 
beloved  independence  f  and  that  to  consummate 
my  glory,  when  the  governor  of  Cuba,  Velasquez, 
would  have  taken  my  command  from  me,  and  sa- 
crificed me  to  his  envy  and  jealousy,  I  drew  from 
him  all  his  forces,  and  joined  them  to  my  own, 
showing  myself  as  much  superior  to  all  other  Span- 
iards, as  I  was  to  the  Indians  ? 

PENN. 

I  know  very  well  that  thou  wast  as  fierce  as  a 
lion,  and  as  subtle  as  a  serpent.  The  Devil,  per- 
haps, may  place  thee  as  high  in  his  black  list  of 
heroes,  as  Alexander  or  Caesar.  It  is  not  "my  bu- 
siness to  interfere  with  him  in  settling  thy  rank. 
But  hark  thee,  friend  Cortez — What  right  hadst 
thou,  or  had  the  king  of  Spain  himself,  to  the  Mex- 
ican Empire  ?     Answer  me  that  if  thou  canst. 

CORTEZ. 

The  Pope  gave  it  to  my  master. 

PENN. 

But  suppose  the  high  priest  of  Mexico,  had  ta- 
ken it  into  his  head  to  give  Spain  to  Montezuma, 
would  his  grant  have  been  good  ? 


202 

CORTEZ. 

These  are  questions  of  casuistry,  which  it  is  not 
the  business  of  a  soldier  to  decide.*  We  leave  that 
to  gownsnnen.  But  pray,  Mr.  Penn,  what  right 
had  you  to  the  province  you  settled  ? 

PENN. 

An  honest  right  of  fair  purchase.  We  gave  the 
natives  some  things  they  wanted,  and  they  in  re- 
turn gave  us  lands  they  did  not  want.  All  was 
amicably  agreed  on  ;  not  a  drop  of  blood  shed  to 
stain  our  acquisition. 

CORTEZ. 

I  am  afraid  there  was  a  little  fraud  in  the  pur- 
chase. Thy  followers,  William  Penn,  are  said  to 
think  cheating  in  a  quiet  sober  way  no  mortal 
sin. 

PENN. 

The  righteous  are  always  calumniated  by  the 
ungodly.  It  was  a  sight  which  an  angel  might 
contemplate  with  delight,  to  behold  the  colony  1 
settled  !  To  see  us  living  with  the  Indians  like  in- 
nocent lambs,  and  taming  the  ferocity  of  their  bar- 
barous manners  by  the  gentleness  of  ours !  To  see 
the  whole  country,  which  before  was  an  unculti- 
vated wilderness,  rendered  as  fertile  and  fair  as  a 
garden>l  O  Fernando  Cortez,  Fernando  Cortez! 
didst  thou  leave  the  great  Empire  of  Mexico  in 
that  state?  No,  thou  hadst  turned  those  delight- 
ful and  populous  regions  into  a  desert ;  a  desert 
flooded  with  blood.  Dost  thou  not  remember  that 
most  disgraceful  scene,  when  the  noble  emperor 
Guatimozin  was  stretched  out  by  thy  soldiers 
upon  hot  burning  coals,  to  make  him  discover  in- 
to what  part  of  the  lake  of  Mexico  he  had  thrown 
the  royal  treasures  ?  Are  not  his  groans  ever  sound- 
ing in  the  ears  of  thy  conscience  ?    Do  not  they 


203 

rend  thy  hard  heart,  and  strike  thee  with  more 
horror  than  the  yells  of  the  furies  ? 

CORTEZ. 

Alas  !  I  was  not  present  when  the  dire  act  was 
committed.  Had  I  been  there,  I  should  have  for- 
bidden it.     My  nature  was  mild. 

PENN. 

Thou  wast  the  captain  of  a  band  of  robbers, 
who  did  this  horrid  -deed.  The  advantage  they 
had  drawn  from  thy  counsels  and  conduct  enabled 
them  to  commit  it :  and  thy  skill  saved  them  after- 
wards from  the  vengeance  that  was  due  to  so 
enormous  a  crime.  The  enraged  Mexicans  would 
have  properly  punished  them  for  it,  if  they  had 
not  had  thee  for  their  general. 

CORTEZ. 

The  saints  I  find  can  rail,  William  Penn.  But 
how  do  you  hope  to  preserve  this  admirable  colo- 
ny which  you  have  settled  ?  Your  people,  you  tell 
me,  live  like  innocent  l^nbs.  Are  there  no 
wolves  in  North  America,  to  devour  those  lambs  ? 
And  if  the  Americans  should  continue  in  perpetual 
peace  with  all  your  successors  there,  foreign- 
ers will  not.  Are  the  inhabitants  of  Pennsylva- 
nia to  make  war  against  them  with  prayers  and 
preaching  ?  If  so,  that  garden  which  you  say  you 
have  planted,  will  undoubtedly  be  their  prey,  and 
they  will  take  from  you  your  property,  your  laws, 
and  your  religion. 

PEJJK. 

The  Lord's  will  be  done      ^^f"  ^  nrd  w'li  t^*- 
fend  us  against  the  ra^e 
good  pleasure 


-   204 

Solon!  Did  Solon,  think  you,  give  laws  to  a  peo- 
ple, and  leave  those  laws  and  that  people  at  the 
mercy  of  every  invader  ?  The  first  business  of  a 
legislator  is  to  provide  a  military  strength  that 
may  defend  the  whole  system.  If  a  house  is  built 
in  a  land  of  robbers,  without  a  gate  to  shut,  or  a 
bolt  or  bar  to  secure  it,  what  avails  it  how  commo- 
dious it  may  be,  or  how  well  proportioned  the  ar- 
chitecture ?  Is  it  richly  furnished  within  ?  the  more 
it  will  tempt  the  hands  of  violence  and  of  rapine 
to  seize  its  wealth.  The  world,  William  Penn,  is 
all  a  land  of  robbers.  Any  state  or  commonwealth 
erected  therein,  must  be  well  fenced,  and  secured 
by  good  military  institutions ;  or,  the  happier  it 
is  in  all  other  respects,  the  greater  will  be  its  dan- 
ger, the  more  speedy  its  destruction.  Perhaps 
the  neighbouring  English  colonies  may,  for  a  while, 
protect  yours  :  but  that  precarious  security  can- 
not always  preserve  you.  Your  plan  of  govern- 
ment must  be  chan^d,  or  your  colony  will  be 
lost.  What  I  have  said,  is  also  applicable  to  Great 
Britain  itself.  If  an  increase  of  its  wealth  be  not 
accompanied  with  an  increase  of  its  force,  that 
wealth  will  become  the  prey  of  some  of  the  neigh- 
bouring nations,  in  which  the  martial  spirit  is  more 
prevalent  than  the  commercial.  And  whatever 
praise  may  be  due  to  its  civil  institutions,  if  they 
are  not  guarded  by  a  wise  system  of  military  poli- 
cy, they  will  be  found  of  no  value,  being  unable  to 
prevent  their  own  dissolution. 

Uuanniu^m    was    stiv.^^^^',  .  ,  ^. 

upon  hot  burning  coals,  to  human  wisdom.     The 
to  what  part  of  the  lake  of  Mexico^I.  Z"^^  ^'"""^ 
the  royal  treasures  ?  Are  not  his  groans  ever  souh 
ing  m  the  ears  of  thy  conscience  ?    Do  not  they 


205 

inconsistent  with  the  great  laws  of  nature,  and  with 
the  necessary  state  of  human  society,  cannot  pos- 
sibly have  been  inspired  by  God.  Self-defence  is 
as  necessary  to  nations,  as  to  men.  And  shall  par- 
ticulars have  a  right  which  nations  have  not? 
True  religion,  William  Penn,  is  the  perfection  of 
reason.  Fanaticism  is  the  disgrace,  the  destruc- 
tion of  reason. 

PENN. 

Though  \%  hat  thou  sayest  should  be  true,  it  does 
not  come  well  from  thy  i?iouth.  A  Papist  talk  of 
reason!  Go  to  the  inquisition,  and  tell  them  of 
reason,  and  the  great  laws  of  nature !  They  will 
broil  thee,  as  thy  solcJiers*  broiled  the  unhappy 
Guatimozin.  Why  dost  thou  turn  pale  ?  Is  it  at  the 
name  of  the  inquisition,  or  the  name  of  Guatimo- 
zin ?  Tremble  and  shake  when  thou  thinkest,  that 
every  murder  the  inquisitors  have  committed,  eve- 
ry torture  they  have  inflicted  on  the  innocent  In- 
dians, is  originally  owing  to  thee.  Thou  must  an- 
swer to  God  for  all  their  inhumanity,  for  all  their 
injustice.  What  vvouldst  thou  give  to  part  with 
the  renown  of  thy  conquests,  and  to  have  a  pure 
and  undisturbed  conscience  ? 

CORTEZ. 

I  feel  the  force  of  thy  words.  They  pierce  me 
like  daggers.  I  can  never,  never  be  happy,  while 
I  retain  any  memory  of  the  ills  I  have  caused ! 


206 


On  Creation  and  Providence 

Lord,  when  my  raptur'd  thought  surveys 

Creation's  beauties  o'er, 
All  nature  joins  to  teach  thy  praise, 

And  bid  my  soul  adore. 

Where'er  I  turn  my  gazing  eyes, 

Thy  radiant  footsteps  shine ; 
Ten  thousand  pleasing  wonders  rise, 

And  speak  their  soured  divine. 

The  living  tribes  of  countless  forms, 

In  earth,  and  sea,  and  air ; 
The  meanest  flies,  the  smallest  worms, 

Almighty  pow'r  declare. 

All  rose  to  life  at  thy  command, 

And  wait  their  daily  food 
From  thy  paternal,  bounteous  hand, 

Exhaustless  spring  of  good. 

The  meads,  anay'd  in  smiling  green, 
With  wholesome  herbage  crown'd  ; 

The  fields  with  corn,  a  richer  scene. 
Spread  thy  full  bounties  round. 

The  fruitful  tree,  the  blooming  flow'r, 

In  varied  charms  appear; 
Their  varied  charms  display  thy  pow'r, 

Thy  goodness  all  declare. 

The  sun's  productive,  quick'ning  beams 
The  growing  verdure  spread  ; 


-207 

Refreshing  rains  and  cooling  streams 
His  gentle  influence  aid.^ 

The  moon  and  stars  his  absent  light 

Supply  with  borrowed  rays, 
And  deck  the  sable  veil  of  night, 

And  speak  their  Maker's  praise. 

Thy  wisdom,  pow'r,  and  goodness,  Lord, 

In  all  thy  works  appear: 
And  O  !  let  man  thy  praise  record ; 

Man,  thy  distinguished  care. 

From  thee  the  breath  of  life  he  drew ; 

That  breath  thy  power  maintains ; 
Thy  tender  mercy  ever  new. 

His  brittle  frame  sustains. 

Yet  nobler  favours  claim  his  praise, 

Of  reason's  light  possess'd* 
By  revelation's  brighter  rays 

Still  more  divinely  blest. 

Thy  providence  his  constant  guard 
When  threatening  woes  impend, 

Or  will  the  impending  dangers  ward, 
Or  timely  succours  lend. 


ili^ 


Religion, 


Religion  !  oh  thou  cherub  heavenly  bright! 
Of  joys  unmix 'd,  and  fathomless  delight ! 
Thou,  thou  art  all ;  nor  find  I  in  the  whole 
Creation  aught,  but  God  and  my  own  soul. 
18* 


,  208 

Thy  force,  alone,  Religion,  death  disarms, 
Breaks  all  his  darts,  and  every  viper  charms. 
Soften'd  by  thee,  the  grisly  form  appears 
No  more  the  horrid  object  of  om*  fears. 
We  undismayed,  this  awful  power  obey. 
That  guides  us  through  the  safe,  tho'  gloomy  way 
Which  leads  to  life,  and  to  the  blest  abode, 
Where  ravish'd  minds  enjoy,  what  here  they  own'd, 
a  God. 

We  grant,  a  train  of  mischiefs  oft  proceeds 
From  superstitious  rites  and  penal  creeds  ; 
But  view  Religion  in  her  native  charms. 
Dispersing  blessings  with  indulgent  arms, 
From  her  fair  eyes  what  heavenly  rays  are  spread ! 
What  blooming  joys  smile  round  her  blissful  head ! 
Offspring  divine !  by  thee  we  bless  the  cause. 
Who  form'd  the  world,  and  rules  it.  by  his  laws  ; 
His  independent  beipg  we  adore. 
Extol  his  goodness,  and  revere  his  pow'r. 
Our  wond'ring  eyes,  his  high  perfections  view, 
The  lofty  contemplation  we  pursue, 
'Till  ravish'd,  we  the  great  idea  find. 
Shining  in  bright  impressions  on  our  mind. 

Inspired  by  thee,  guest  of  celestial  race. 
With  generous  love  we  human  kind  embrace ; 
We  provocations  unprovok'd  receive. 
Patient  of  wrong,  and  easy  to  forgive ; 
Protect  the  orphan,  plead  the  widow's  cause. 
Nor  deviate  from  the  line  unerring  justice  draws. 

Thy  lustre,  blest  effulgence !  can  dispel 
The  clouds  of  error,  and  the  glooms  of  hell; 
Can  to  the  soul  impart  ethereal  hght. 
Give  life  divine,  and  intellectual  sight : 
Before  our  ravish'd  eyes,  thy^  beams  display 
The  op'ning  scenes  of  bliss  and  endless  day ; 


209 

Sy  which  incited,  we  with  ardour  rise, 
corn  this  inferior  ball,  and  claim  the  skies. 
Tyrants  to  thee  a  change  of  nature  owe. 
Dismiss  their  tortures,  and  indulgent  grow. 
Ambitious  conquerors,  in  their  mad  career, 
<Jheck'd  by  thy  voice  lay  down  the  sword  and 
spear. 
The  boldest  champions  of  impiety,  i 

Scornful  of  heav'n,  subdu'd  or  won  by  thee,      > 
Before  thy  hallowed  altars  bend  their  knee.      3 
Loose  wits,  made  wise,  a  public  good  become, 
The  sons  of  pride  an  humble  mien  assume. 
The  profligate  in  morals  grow  severe, 
Defrauders  just,  and  sycophants  sincere. 


Rich  and  Poor, 

There    in   yon   house    that   holds    the   parish 
poor. 
Whose  walls  of  mud  scarce  bear  the  broken  door ; 
There  where  the  putrid  vapours  flagging  play. 
And  the  dull  wheel  hums  doleful  through  the  day , 
There  children  dwell,  who  know  no  parents'  care  ; 
Parents,  who  know  no  children's  love,  dwell  there ; 
Heart-broken  matrons  on  their  joyless  bed, 
Forsaken  wives,  and  mothers  never  wed ; 
Dejected  widows,  with  unheeded  tears. 
And  crippled  age,  with  more  than  childhood  fears  ; 
The  lame,  the  blind — and  far  the  happiest  they  ! 
The  moping  idiot  and  the  madman  gay. 

Here  too  the  sick  their  final  doom  receive, 


.  210  ^ 

Here  brought,  amid  the  scenes  of  grief,  to  grieve  ! 
Where  the  loud  groans  from  some  sad  chamber  flow,'' 
Mixt  with  the  clamours  of  the  crowd  below. 
Jlere,  sorrowing,  tliey  each  kindred  sorrow  scan, 
And  the  cold  charities  of  man  to  man : 
Whose  laws  indeed  for  ruin'd  age  provide, 
And  strong   compulsion  plucks  the   scrap   from 

pride ; 
But  still  that  scrap  is  bought  with  many  a  sigh, 
And  pride  imbitters  what  it  can't  deny. 

Say,  ye  oppressed  by  some  fantastic  woes, 
Some  jarring  nerve  that  baflJles  your  repose  ; 
Who  press  the  downy  couch,  while  slaves  advance 
With  ttmid  eye,  to  read  the  distant  glance  ; 
Who  with  sad  prayVs  the  weary  doctor  tease, 
To  name  the  nameless,  ever  new  disease  ; 
Who  with  mock  patience  dire  complaints  endure, 
Which  real  pain  and  that  alone  can  cure ; 
How  would  you  bear  in  real  pain  to  lie, 
Despis'd,  neglected,  left  alone  to  die  ? 
How  would  you  bear  to  draw  your  latest  breath, 
Where    all    that's   wretched  paves  the  way  for 

death  ? 
Such  is  that  room  which  one  rude  beam  divides, 
And  naked  rafters  form  the  sloping  sides  ; 
Where  the  vile  bands  that  bind  the  thatch  are  seen, 
And  lath  and  mud  are  all  that  lie  between. 
Save  one  dull  pane,  that,  coarsely  patch 'd,  gives 

way. 
To  the  rude  tempest,  yet  excludes  the  day. 
Here  on  a  matted  flock,  with  dust  o'erspread. 
The  drooping  wretch  reclines  his  languid  head. 
For  him  no  hand  the  cordial  cup  supplies. 
Nor  wipes  the  tear  that  stagnates  in  his  eyes ; 
No  friends  with  soft  discourse  his  pain  beguile, 
Nor  promise  hope  till  sickness  wears  a  smile. 


211 


The  Christian  Race 

Awake  my  soul,  stretch  ev'ry  nerve, 

And  press  with  vigour  on : 
A  heav'nly  race  demands  thy  zeal 

And  an  immortal  crown. 

A  cloud  of  witnesses  around, 

Hold  these  in  full  survey  ; 
Forget  the  steps  already  trod, 

And  onward  urge  thy  way. 

'Tis  God's  all  animating  voice, 

That  calls  thee  from  on  high , 
'Tis  his  own  hand  presents  the  prize 

To  thine  aspiring  eye  : 

That  prize  with  peerless  glory  bright, 

Which  shall  new  lustre  boast, 
When  victors'  wreaths,  and  monarchs'  gems, 

Shall  blend  in  common  dust. 

My  soul,  with  sacred  ardour  fir'd, 

The  glorious  prize  pursue ; 
And  meet  with  joy  the  high  command, 

To  bid  the  earth  adieu. 


On  Friendship, 

How  fondly  those  mistake  who  seek  for  joys 
In  crowds,  and  mirth,  and  never  ceasing  noise ! 
Their  mirth,  how  empty !  and  their  joys  how  vain ! 
Reflection  ever  flies  the  languid  train. 


215 

StunnM  with  the  din,  thought  sickens;    and  the 

mind 
JVo  true  dehght,  nor  taste  of  bliss  can  find. 

Alike  they  err,  who  leave  the  world  to  dwell 
With  gloomy  sadness  in  a  lonely  cell : 
Heavy  and  dull,  the  joyless  hours  move  on, 
To  all  the  sweets  of  social  life  unknown. 

If  pleasure  smiles  sincere  below  the  skies, 
That  pleasure  must  from  sacred  friendship  rise ; 
Of  all  which  animates  the  human  frame, 
The  noblest  ardour,  and  the  purest  flame  : 
Offspring  of  heav'n ! — there  friendship  all  refin'd, 
Immortal  glows  in  each  seraphic  mind  : 
Mix'd  with  the  streams  of  bliss  forever  flows, 
Nor  change,  decay,  nor  interruption  knows : 
A  glorious  native  of  the  realm  of  love, 
And  only,  in  perfection,  known  above : 
Yet  is  the  blessing,  by  indulgent  Heav'n, 
Though  in  a  less  degree,  to  mortals  giv'n ; 
Its  pleasing  pow'r  by  Providence  design 'd 
To  soften  human  cares,  and  mend  the  mind ; 
To  calm  our  passions  by  its  gentle  sway. 
And  bid  them  reason's  sacred  laws  obey. 
Friendship  can  often  o'er  the  heart  prevail, 
When  philosophic  rules  and  maxims  fail : 
It  turns  to  mutual  tenderness  the  thought. 
And  views  with  kind  indulgence  ev'ry  fault. 
And  where  corosives  ought  to  be  applied, 
The  gentle  hand  soft  love  and  -pity  guide. 
While  each  can  bear  reproof,  and  each  reprove, 
(All  proud  resentment  lost  in  grateful  love,) 
Point  out  each  fault,  and  blame,  yet  not  offend. 
And  free  from  nauseous  flatfry,  can  commend. 
To  merit  its  proportion'd  honours  raise ; 
Alike  exact  the  censure  and  the  praise. 


213 

Friendship  communicates  our  joys  and  pains, 
And  in  each  breast  rejoices,  or  complains ; 
Divides  our  weight  of  wo,  relieves  our  cares. 
And  ev'ry  pleasure  heightens,  as  it  shares. 

While  sacred  virtue  lights  the  holy  fire, 
By  time  uninjur'd,  it  will  ne'er  expire: 
No  force  of  rough  adversity  can  part. 
Can  tear  the  gen'rous  passion  from  the  heart. 

O  friendship !  what  sincere  delights  are  thine  ! 
Fair  miniature  of  happiness  divine  ; 
Propitious,  pleasing,  heav'n-descended  guest, 
Who  only  with  the  virtuous  can  rest : 
May  thy  kind  influence  smooth  my  path  of  life, 
Still  calm  and  peaceful,  free  from  noisy  strife  ; 
Be  virtue,  sweet  content,  and  friendship  mine, 
1  at  my  humble  life  will  ne'er  repine. 
From  these  alone  more  real  pleasures  flow,         ^ 
Than  the  gay  round  of  mirth  and  gaudy  show,  > 
Or  all  thi  charms  of  greatness  can  bestow.        > 


A  Funeral  Hymn, 

While  to  the  grave  our  frijends  are  borne, 

Around  their  cold  remains, 
How  all  the  tender  passions  mourn. 

And  each  fond  heart  complains  I 

But  down  to  earth,  alas  !  in  vam 
We  bend  our  weeping  eyes  ; 

Ah  I  let  us  leave  these  seats  of  pain, 
And  upward  learn  to  rise. 


,      214 

Hope  cheerful  smiles  amid  the  gloom, 

And  beams  a  healing  ray, 
And  guides  us  from  the  darksome  tomb, 

To  realms  of  endless  day. 

Jesus,  who  left  his  blest  abode, 

(Amazing  grace !)  to  die, 
Mark'd  when  he  rose,  the  shining  road 

To  his  bright  courts  on  high. 

To  those  bright  courts,  when  hope  ascends, 

The  tears  forget  to  flow ; 
Hope  views  our  absent  happy  friends, 

And  calms  the  swelling  wo. 

Then  let  our  hearts  repine  no  more, 

That  earthly  comfort  dies. 
But  lasting  happiness  explore. 

And  ask  it  from  the  skies. 


Trust  in  the  Goodness  of  God, 


Why,  O  my  soul,  why  thus  deprest, 
And  whence  this  anxious  fear  ? 

Let  former  favours  fix  thy  trust, 
And  check  the  rising  tear. 

When  darkness  and  when  sorrows  rose, 

And  press'd  on  every  side  ; 
Did  not  the  Lord  sustain  thy  steps. 

And  was  no* God  thy  guide? 


215 

Affliction  is  a  stormy  deep, 

Where  wave  resounds  to  wave : 

Though  o'er  my  head  the  billows  roll, 
I  know  the  Lord  can  save. 

Perhaps  before  the  morning  dawns, 

He'll  reinstate  my  peace  ; 
For  he  who  bade  the  tempest  roar, 

Can  bid  the  tempest  cease. 

In  the  dark  watches  of  the  night, 
I'll  count  his  mercies  o'er : 

I'll  praise  him  for  ten  thousand  past, 
And  humbly  sue  for  more. 

Then,  O  my  soul,  why  thus  deprest. 
And  whence  this  anxious  fear  ? 

Let  former  favours  fix  thy  trust, 
And  check  the  rising  tear. 

Here  will  I  rest  and  build  my  hopes. 

Nor  murmur  at  his  rod  ; 
He's  more  than  all  the  world  to  me, 

My  health,  my  life,  my  God. 


Happiness. 

O  Happiness,  by  all  admir'd,  pursu'd. 
How  oft  defin'd,  how  seldom  understood. 
And  always  at  a  painful  distance  view'd  1 

Thy  charms,  alluring,  in  fair  prospect  rise ; 
They  court  our  eager  arms  and  longing  eyes  *, 
And  prompt  our  fond  desires  and  restless  sighs. 
19 


216 

If  thou  art  but  a  dream,  an  empty  name, 

Then  why  this  active  power,  this  quenchless  flame, 

By  Heav'n  implanted  in  the  human  frame  ? 

The  great  Creator,  just,  and  good,  and  wise, 
The  wants  of  all  his  creatures  well  supplies. 
Nor  blesisings  to  the  lowest  rank  denies. 

Shall  man  alone  unsatisfied  remain  ? 
And,doom'd  to  ceaseless  unavailing  pain. 
Must  all  his  ardent  wishes  rise  in  vain  ? 

No,  there  is  nobler  bliss  for  man  designed,  " 

A  happiness  of  an  immortal  kind. 
Wide  as  his  wishes,  ample  as  his  mind. 

Earth  never  can  bqptow  the  sov'reign  good ; 
The  sacred  word,  unerring,  points  the  road 
To  happiness,  to  glory,  and  to  God. 

But  foolish  mortals  oft  mistake  the  way. 

In  search  of  bliss  on  earth,  we  anxious  stray, 

And  take  a  meteor  for  the  lamp  of  day. 

Phantoms  of  pleasure  rise,  and  smiling  fair. 
They  tempt  our  feet  through  labyrinths  of  care. 
Till  catching  at  the  prize,  we  grasp  the  air. 

Almighty  Goodness,  call  our  hearts  and  eyes 
From  th^  deluding,  tempting  vanities. 
And  upward  bid  our  ardent  wishes  rise. 

O  bid  each  fatal,  fair  illusion  flee, 
Mark  out  our  path  from  every  error  free, 
And  let  us  seek  for  bliss  alone  in  thee. 


21 1 


Pride  and  Humility. 


Mark,  how  the  stately  tree  disdainful  rears 
His  tow'ring  head,  and  mingles  with  the  clouds ; 
But  by  his  fatal  height,  the  more  expos'd 
To  all  the  furies  of  the  raging  storm : 
His  honours  fly,  the  sport  of  angry  winds ; 
Till  the  loud  blast  with  direful  stroke  descends: 
Torn  from  his  basis,  low  on  earth  he  lies, 
And  the  hills  echo  to  the  sounding  fall. 
So  pride  with  haughty  port  defies  in  vain, 
The  force  of  rough  adversity,  which  rends 
With  double  violence  the  stubborn  heart. 

But,  like  a  tender  plant,  humility 
Bends  low  before  the  threat'ning  blast  unhurt. 
Eludes  its  rage,  and  lives  through  all  the  storm. 

Pride  is  the  livVy  of  the  prince  of  darkness. 
Worn  by  his  slaves,  who  glory  in  their  shame ; 
A  gaudy  dress,  but  tarnish'd,  rent,  and  foul, 
And  loathsome  to  the  holy  eye  of  Heav'n. 

But  sweet  humility,  a  shining  robe, 
Bestow'd  by  Heav'n  upon  its  favVite  sons : 
The  robe  which  God  approves,  and  angels  wear : 
Fair  semblance  of  the  glorious  Prince  of  light 
Who  stoop'd  to  dwell  (divine  humility  !) 
With  sinful  worms,  and  poverty,  and  scorn. 

Pride  is  the  source  of  discord,  strife,  and  war, 
And  all  the  endless  train  of  heavy  woes, 
Which  wait  on  wretched  man ;  the  direful  sting 
Of  envy,  and  the  dreaded  frowns  of  scorn. 
And  gloomy  discontent,  and  black  despair. 


-     218 

But  sweet  humility,  the  source  of  peace, 
Of  amity  and  love,  content  and  joy ; 
Where  she  resides,  a  thousand  blessings  wait, 
To  gild  our  lives  and  form  a  heav'n  below. 

Pride  leaves  her  wretched  vot'ries  to  contempt, 
To  certain  ruin,  infamy,  and  death. 

But  sweet  humility  points  out  the  way 
To  happiness,  and  life,  and  lasting  honours. 

Humility,  how  glorious  !  how  divine ! 
Thus  cloth'd  and  thus  enrich 'd,  O  may  I  shine-l 
Be  mine  this  treasure,  this  celestial  robe, 
And  let  the  sons  of  pride  possess  the  globe. 


War. 


First  Envy,  eldest  born  of  hell,  imbrued 
Her  hands  in  blood,  and  taught  the  sons  of  men 
To  make  a  death  which  nature  never  made. 
And  God  abhorr'd ;  with  violence  rude  to  break 
The  thread  of  life  ere  half  its  length  was  run, 
And  rob  a  wretched  brother  of  his  being  : 
With  joy  Ambition  saw,  and  soon  improved 
The  execrable  deed.     'Twas  not  enough 
By  subtle  fraud  to  snatch  a  single  life  ; 
Puny  impiety  !  whole  kingdoms  fell 
To  sate  the  lust  of  power :  more  horrid  still. 
The  foulest  stain  and  scandal  of  our  nature, 
Became  its  boast.     One  murder  makes  a  villain ; 
Millions  a  hero.     Princes  were  privileged 


219 

To  kiU ;  and  numbers  sanctified  the  crime. 

AJi  I  why  will  kings  forget  that  they  are  men  ? 

A.nd  men  that  they  are  brethren  ?  Why  delight 

in  human  sacrifice?  Why  burst  the  ties 

Of  nature,  that  should  knit  their  souls  together 

Cn  one  soft  bond  of  amity  and  love  ? 

Vet  still  they  breathe  destruction,  still  go  on, 

(nhumanly  ingenious,  to  find  out 

New  pains  for  life,  new  terrors  for  the  grave. 

Artificers  of  death  !   still  monarchs  dream 

Of  universal  empire  growing  up 

From  universal  ruin.     Blast  the  design. 

Great  God  of  hosts  !  nor  let  thy  creatures  fall 

Up^itied  victims  at  Ambition's  shrine  I 


All  Nature  attests  the  Creator, 


Hast  thou  beheld  the  glorious  Sun, 
Through  all  the  sky  his  circuit  run ; 
At  rising  morn,  at  closing  day, 
And  when  he  beam'd  his  noontide  ray  ? 

Say,  didst  thou  e'er  attentive  view, 
The  evening  cloud,  or  morning  dew  ? 
Or,  after  rain,  the  wat'ry  bow. 
Rise  in  the  east  a  beauteous  show  ? 

When  darkness  had  o'erspread  the  skies, 
Hast  thou  e'er  seen  the  moon  arise ; 
And,  with  a  mild  and  placid  light. 
Shed  lustre  o'er  the  face  of  night? 
19* 


% 


220 

Hast  thou  e'er  wander'd  o'er  the  plain, 
And  view'd  the  fields,  and  waving  grain ; 
The  flow'ry  mead,  the  leafy  grove, 
Where  all  is  melody  and  love  ? 

Hast  thou  e'er  trod  the  sandy  shore, 
And  heard  the  restless  ocean  roar, 
When  roused  by  some  tremendous  storm, 
Its  billows  roll  in  dreadful  form  ? 

Hast  thou  beheld  the  lightning  stream, 
Through  night's  dark  gloom,  with  sudden  gleam, 
While  the  bellowing  thunder's  sound, 
RoU'd  rattling  through  the  heavens  profound  ? 

Hast  thou  e'er  felt  the  cutting  gale. 
The  sleety  shower,  the  biting  hail ; 
Beheld  bright  snow  o'erspread  the  plains ; 
The  water  bound  in  icy  chains  ? 

Hast  thou  the  various  beings  seen, 
That  sport  along  the  valley  green  ; 
That  sweetly  warble  on  the  spray, 
Or  wanton  in  the  sunny  ray ; 

That  shoot  along  the  briny  deep, 
Or  under  ground  their  dwellings  keep , 
That  through  the  gloomy  forest  range. 
Or  frightful  wilds,  and  deserts  strange  ? 

Hast  thou  the  wond'rous  scenes  survey'd, 
That  all  around  thee  are  display 'd ; 
And  hast  thou  never  rais'd  thine  eyes 
To  Him  who  caus'd  these  scenes  to  rise  1 

'Twas  God  who  formed  the  concave  sky, 
And  all  the  shining  orbs  on  high ; 


221 

Who  gave  the  various  beings  birth, 
That  people  all  the  spacious  earth. 

*Tis  he  that  bids  the  tempest  rise, 
And  rolls  the  thunder  through  the  skies. 
His  voice  the  elements  obey : 
Through  all  the  earth  extends  his  sway. 

His  goodness  all  his  creatures  share  ; 
But  Man  is  his  peculiar  care : 
Then  while  they  all  proclaim  his  praise, 
Let  Man  his  voice  the  loudest  raise. 


Praise  to  the  Creator. 

Praise  to  God,  immoral  praise. 
For  the  love  that  crowns  our  days  ; 
Bounteous  source  of  evVy  joy. 
Let  thy  praise  our  tongues  employ  1 

For  the  blessings  of  the  field. 
For  the  stores  the  gardens  yield, 
For  the  vine's  exalted  juice. 
For  the  gen'rous  olive's  use. 

Flocks  that  whiten  all  the  plain  ; 
Yellow  sheaves  of  ripen'd  grain ; 
Clouds  that  drop  their  fatt'ning  dews, 
Suns  that  temperate  warmth  diffuse ; 

All  that  spring,  with  bounteous  hand, 
Scatters  o'er  the  smiluig  land ; 


222 

All  that  Ilb'ral  autumn  pours, 
From  her  rich  overflowing  stores. 

These  to  thee,  my  God,  we  owe, 
Source  from  whence  ail  blessings  flow; 
And  for  these  my  soul  shall  raise, 
Grateful  vows  and  solemn  praise. 

Yet,  should  rising  whirlwinds  tear 
From  its  stem  the  ripening  ear ; 
Should  the  fig-tree's  blasted  shoot 
Drop  her  green  untimely  fruit ; 

Should  the  vine  put  forth  no  more, 
Nor  the  olive  yield  her  store ; 
Though  the  sic  k'ning  flock  should  fall, 
And  the  herds  desert  the  stall ; 

Should  thine  alter'd  hand  restrain 
The  early  and  the  latter  rain ; 
Blast  each  opening  bud  of  joy. 
And  the  rising  year  destroy ; 

Yet  to  thee  my  soul  shall  raise 
Grateful  vows  and  solemn  praise  \ 
And,  when  ev'ry  blessing's  flown, 
Love  thee— for  thyself  alone. 


Hymn  to  Contentment. 

Lovely,  lasting  peace  of  mind! 
Sweet  delight  of  human  kind ! 
Heav'nly  born  and  bred  on  high, 
To  crown  the  fav'rites  of  the  sky, 


I 


223 

With  more  of  happiness  below, 
Than  victors  in  a  triumph  know  ! 
"Whither,  oh  whither  art  thou  fled, 
To  lay  thy  meek  contented  head? 
What  happy  regions  dost  thou  please 
To  make  the  seat  of  calm  and  ease  ? 

Ambition  searches  all  its  sphere 
Of  pomp  and  state  to  meet  thee  there ; 
Increasing  avarice  would  find 
Thy  presence  in  its  gold  enshrin'd : 
The  bold  adventurer  ploughs  his  way 
Through  rocks,  amidst  the  foaming  sea, 
To  gain  thy  love  ;  and  then  perceives 
Thou  wert  riot  in  the  rocks  and  waves. 
The  silent  heart  which  grief  assails. 
Treads  soft  and  lonesome  o'er  the  vales, 
Sees  daisies  open,  rivers  run. 
And  seeks  (as  I  have  vainly  done) 
Amusing  thought ;  but  learns  to  know 
That  solitude's  the  nurse  of  wo. 
No  real  happiness  is  found 
In  trailing  purple  o'er  the  ground : 
Or  in  a  soul  exalted  high, 
To  range  the  circuit  of  the  sky. 
Converse  with  stars  above,  and  know 
All  nature  in  its  forms  below : 
The  rest  it  seeks,  in  seeking,  dies ; 
And  doubts  at  last  for  knowledge  rise. 

Lovely,  lasting  peace  appear ; 
This  world  itself  if  thou  art  here. 
Is  once  again  with  Eden  blest. 
And  man  contains  it  in  his  breast. 

'Twas  thus  as  under  shade  I  stood, 
I  sung  my  wishes  to  the  wood. 
And  lost  in  thought,  no  more  perceiv'd 
The  branches  whisper  as  they  wav'd  : 
^t  seem'd  as  all  the  quiet  place 


'      224 

Confessed  the  presence  of  the  grace  ; 
When  thus  she  spoke  :  "  Go  rule  thy  will, 
Bid  thy  wild  passions  all  be  still ; 
Know  God,  and  bring  thy  heart  to  know 
The  joys  which  from  religion  flow ; 
Then  ev'ry  grace  shall  prove  its  guest. 
And  I'll  be  there  to  crown  the  rest. 

Oh!  by  yonder  mossy  seat, 
In  my  hours  of  sweet  retreat. 
Might  I  thus  my  soul  employ, 
With  sense  of  gratitude  and  joy, 
Rais'd  as  ancient  prophets  were. 
In  heav'nly  vision,  praise,  and  prayV; 
Pleasing  all  men,  hurting  none  ;* 
Pleas'd  and  blest  with  God  alone ; 
Then  while  the  gardens  take  my  sight. 
With  all  the  colours  of  delight ; 
While  silver  waters  glide  along, 
To  please  my  ear  and  court  my  song ; 
ril  lift  my  voice  and  tune  my  string, 
And  thee,  Great  Source  of  Nature,  sing. 

The  sun  that  walks  his  airy  way, 
To  light  the  world,  and  give  the  day ; 
The  moon  that  shines  with  borrowed  light ; 
The  stars  that  gild  the  gloomy  night ; 
The  seas  that  roll  un number 'd  waves  ; 
The  wood  that  spreads  its  shady  leaves; 
The  field  whose  ears  conceal  the  grain, , 
The  yellow  treasure  of  the  plain  : 
All,  all  of  these,  and  all  I  see, 
Should  be  sung,  and  sung  hy  me  : 
They  speak  their  Maker  as  they  can. 
But  want  and  ask  the  tongue  of  man. 

Go  search  among  your  idle  dreams, 
.Your  busy  or  your  vain  extremes ; 
And  find  a  life  of  equal  bliss, 
Or  own  the  next  begun  in  this." 


225 


Improvement  of  Time, 

He  mourns  the  dead,  who  Hves  as  they  desire. 
Where  is  that  thrift,  that  avarice  of  Time, 
(Blest  av'rice !)  which  the  thought  of  death  inspires ! 
O  time !  than  gold  more  sacred ;  more  a  load 
Than  lead  to  fools :  and  fools  reputed  wise.. 
What  moment  granted  man  without  account  ? 
What  years  are  squander'd,  wisdom's  debt  unpaid ! 
Haste,  haste,  he  lies  in  wait,  he's  at  the  door. 
Insidious  death ;  should  his  strong  hand  arrest, 
No  composition  sets  the  prisoner  free. 
Eternity's  inexorable  chain 
Fast  binds ;  and  vengeance  claims  the  full  arrear. 
How  late  I  shudder'd  on  the  brink !  how  late 
Life  call'd  for  her  last  refuge  in  despair  ! 
For  what  calls  thy  disease  ?  for  moral  aid : 
Thou  think'st  it  folly  to  be  wise  too  soon. 
Youth  is  not  rich  in  time ;  it  may  be  poor ; 
Part  with  it  as  with  money,  sparing ;  pay 
No  moment,  but  in  purchase  of  its  worth  : 
And  what  its  worth,  ask  death-beds,  they  can  telL 
Part  with  it  as  with  life,  reluctant ;  big 
With  holy  hope  of  nobler  time  to  come. 

Is  this  our  duty,  wisdom,  glory,  gain  ? 
And  sport  we,  like  the  natives  of  the  bough, 
Whea  vernal  suns  inspire?  Amusement  reigns, 
Man's  great  demand :  to  trifle  is  to  live  : 
And  is  it  then  a  trifle  too  to  die  ? 
Who  wants  amusement  in  the  flame  of  battle  ? 
Is  it  not  treason  to  the  soul  immortal. 
Her  foes  in  arms,  eternity  the  prize  ? 
Will  toys  amuse,  when  med'cines  cannot  cure  ? 
When  spirits  ebb,  when  life's  enchanting  scenes 


,    226 

Their  lustre  lose,  and  lessen  in  our  sight ; 
(As  lands,  and  cities  with  their  glitt'ring  spires 
To  the  poor  shattered  bark,  by  sudden  storm 
Thrown  off  to  sea,  and  soon  to  perish  there :) 
Will  toys  amuse  ? — No :  thrones  will  then  be  toys. 
And  earth  and  skies  seem  dust  upon  the  scale. 

Redeem  we  time  ? — its  loss  we  dearly  buy. 
What  pleads  Lorenzo  for  his  high  priz'd  sports  ? 
He  pleads  time's  num'rous  blanks  ;  he  loudly  pleads 
The  straw-like  trifles  on  life's  common  stream. 
From  whom  those  blanks  and  trifles,  but  from  thee? 
No  blank,  no  trifle.  Nature  made  or  meant. 
Virtue,  or  purpos'd  virtue,  still  be  thine  ; 
This  cancels  thy  complaint  at  once ;  this  leaves 
In  act  no  trifle,  and  no  blank  in  time. 
This  greatens,  fills,  immortalizes  all : 
This,  the  blest  art  of  turnihg  all  to  gold  ; 
This,  the  good  heart's  prerogative  to  raise 
A  royal  tribute  from  the  poorest  hours. 
Immense  revenue,  every  moment  pays! 
If  nothing  more  than  purpose  in  thy  power, 
Thy  purpose  firm  is  equal  to  the  deed : 
Who  does  the  best  his  circumstance  allows, 
Does  well,  acts  nobly  :  angels  could  no  more. 
Our  outward  act,  indeed,  admits  restraint ; 
'Tis  not  in  things  o'er  thought  to  domineer ; 
Guard  well  thy  thoughts  ;    our  thoughts  are  heard 
in  heav'n. 

On  all-important  time  through  ev'ry  age, 
Tho'  much,  and  warm,  the  wise  have  urg'd ;  the  man 
Is  yet  unborn,  who  duly  weighs  an  hour. 
"  I've  lost  a  day" — the  prince  who  nobly  cried, 
Had  been  an  emperor  without  his  crown.  . 
He  spoke  as  if  deputed  by  mankind. 
So  should  all  speak :  so  reason  speaks  in  all. 
From  the  soft  whispers  of  that  God  in  man, 


227 

Why  fly  to  folly,  why  to  phrenzy  fly, 
For  rescue  from  the  blessings  we  possess  ? 
Time,  the  supreme  ! — Time  is  eternity ; 
Pregnant  with  all  eternity  can  give ; 
Pregnant  with  all  that  makes  archangels  smile  ; 
Who  murders  time,  he  crushes  in  the  birth 
A  pow'r  ethereal,  only  not  ador'd. 


The  Common  Lot, 


Once  in  the  flight  of  ages  past. 

There  lived  a  man : — and  who  was  he  ? 

— ^Mortal !  howe'er  thy  lot  be  cast. 
That  Man  resembled  Thee. 

Unknown  the  region  of  his  birth. 

The  land  in  which  he  died,  unknown  ; 

His  name  hath  perish 'd  from  the  earth, 
This  truth  survives  alone  : 

That  joy  and  grief,  and  hope  and  foar, 
Alternate  triumph 'd  in  his  breast ; 

His  bliss  and  wo, — a  smile,  a  tear  * 
— Oblivion  hides  the  rest. 

The  bounding  pulse,  the  languid  limb, 
The  changing  spirits'  rise  and  fall ; 

We  know  that  these  were  felt  by  him. 
For  these  are  felt  by  all. 

He  suffered — but  his  pangs  are  o'er  , 
Enjoy'd, — but  his  delights  are  fled  ; 

20 


228 

Had  friends,— his  friends  are  now  no  more  ; 
And  foes, — his  foes  are  dead. 

He  loved, — but  whom  he  loved,  the  grave 
Hath  lost  in  its  unconscious  womb : 

O  she  was  fair, — but  nought  could  save 
Her  beauty  from  the  tomb. 

The  rolling  seasons,day  and  night, 

Sun,  Moon,  and  Stars,  the  earth  and  mam 

Ere  while  his  portion,  life  and  light, 
To  him  exist  in  vain. 

He  saw  whatever  thou  hast  seen, 
Encountered  all  that  troubles  thee ; ' 

He  was — whatever  thou  hast  been  ; 
He  is — what  thou  shalt  be. 

The  clouds  and  sunbeams  o'er  his  eye 
That  once  their  shades  and  glory  threw. 

Have  left  in  yonder  silent  sky 
No  vestige  where  they  fiew. 

The  annals  of  the  human  race. 

Their  records  since  the  world  began, 

Of  HIM  afford  no  other  trace 
Than  this, — there  lived  a  man. 


Home, 

Thkrk  is  a  land,  of  every  land  the  pride, 
Belov'd  by  Heaven  o'er  all  the  world  beside, 
Where  brighter  suns  dispense  serener  light, 
And  milder  moons  imparadise  the  night ; 


229 

A  land  of  beauty,  virtue,  valour,  truth, 

Time-tutor'd  age,  and  love-exalted  youth ; 

The  wandering  mariner,  whose  eye  explores 

The  wealthiest  isles,  the  most  enchanting  shores, 

Views  not  a  realm  so  bountiful  and  fair, 

Nor  breathes  the  spirit  of  a  purer  air; 

In  every  clime  the  magnet  of  his  soul. 

Touch 'd  by  resemblance,  trembles  to  that  pole ; 

For  in  this  land  of  Heaven's  peculiar  grace,      'S^ 

The  heritage  of  Nature's  nobler  race, 

There  is  a  spot  of  earth  supremely  blest, 

A  dearer,  sweeter  spot  than  all  the  rest — 

Where  man,  creation's  tyrant,  casts  aside 

His  sword  and  sceptre,  pageantry  and  pride, 

While  in  his  softened  looks  benignly  blend 

The  sire,  the  son,  the  husband,  father,  friend  : 

Here  woman  reigns ;  the  mother,  daughter,  wife, 

Strews  with  fresh  flowers  the  narrow  way  of  life: 

Around  her  knees,  domestic  duties  meet, 

And  fireside  pleasures  gambol  at  her  feet. 

"  Where  shall  that   land,   that  spot  of  earth  be 

found  ?" 
Art  thou  a  man,  a  patriot  ? — ^look  around  ; 
O,  thou  shalt  find,  howe'er  thy  footsteps  roam, 
That  land  thy  country,  and  that  spot  thy  home. 


The  Victory. 

It  was  a  summer  evening. 
Old  Kasper's  work  was  done, 

And  he  before  his  cottage  door 
Was  sitting  in  the  sun, 


230 

And  by  him  sported  on  the  green 
Ilis  little  grandchild  Wilhelmine. 

She  saw  her  brother  Peterkin 
Roil  something  large  and  round, 

That  he  beside  the  rivulet 
In  playing  there  had  found : 

He  came  lo  ask  what  he  had  found, 

That  was  so  large,  and  smooth,  and  round. 

Old  Kasper  took  it  from  the  boy. 

Who  stood  expectant  by ; 
And  then  the  old  man  shook  his  head, 

And  with  a  mournful  sigh, 
"  'TLs  some  poor  fellow's  skull,  (said  he,) 
Who  fell  in  the  great  victory, 

"  I  find  tliem  in  my  garden,  for 

There's  many  here  about : 
And  often  when  I  go  to  plough. 

The  ploughshare  turns  them  out ; 
For  many  thousand  men  (said  he,) 
Were  slain  in  the  great  victory.'*'* 

"  Now  tell  us  what  'twas  all  about," 

Young  Peterkin  replies ; 
And  little  Wilhelmine  looks  up. 

With  wonder-waiting  eyes ; 
"  Now  tell  us  all  about  the  war, 
And  what  they  killed  each  other  for." 

"  It  was  the  English,  (Kasper  said,) 

Who  put  the  French  to  rout : 
But  what  they  killed  each  other  for, 

I  could  not  well  make  out ; 
But  every  body  said,  (quoth  he,) 
That  'twas  o. famous  victory. 


231 

**  My  father  liv'd  at  Blenheim  then, '" 

Von  little  stream  hard  by  ; 
They  burnt  his  dwelling  to  the  ground, 

And  he  was  forc'd  to  fly  ; 
So  with  his  wife  and  child  he  fled, 
Nor  had  he  where  to  rest  his  head. 

"  With  fire  and  sword  the  country  round 

Was  wasted  far  and  wide  ;    . 
And  many  a  chiding  mother  then, 

And  new-born  infant  died : 
But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 
At  every  fu7notcs  victory,  ^J^' 

"  They  say  it  was  a  shocking  sight. 

After  the  field  was  won ; 
For  many  thousand  bodies  here 

Lay  rotting  in  the  sun ; 
But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be, 
After  a.  famous  victory, 

"  Great  praise  the  duke  of  Marlbro'  won 

And  our  good  prince  Eugene." 
"  Why,  'twas  a  very  wicked  thing  1" 
•    Said  little  Wilhelmine : 
"  Nay,  nay,  my  little  girl,  (quoth  he,) 
It  was  difamous  victory, 

"And  every  body  prais'd  the  Duke, 

Who  such  a  fight  did  win." 
"  But  what  good  came  of  it  at  last?" 

Quoth  little  Peterkin ; 
"  Why,  that  I  cannot  tell,  (said  he,) 
But  'twas  ^famous  victory,'*'' 


20* 


232 


Day — A  Pastoral^in  three  parts. 

MORNING. 

In  the  barn  the  tenant  cock, 
Close  to  Partlet  perch 'd  on  high 

Briskly  crows,  (the  shepherd's  clock!) 
Jocund  that  the  morning's  nigh. 

Swiftly  from  the  mountain's  brow, 
Shadows  nurs'd  by  night,  retire  ; 

And  the  peeping  sun-beam,  now 
Paints  with  gold  the  village  spire. 

Philomel  forsakes  the  thorn. 

Plaintive  where  she  prates  at  night : 

And  the  lark  to  meet  the  morn. 
Soars  beyond  the  shepherd's  sight. 

From  the  low-roof'd  cottage  ridge, 
See  the  chatt'ring  swallow  spring; 

Darting  through  the  one-arch'd  bridge, 
Quick  she  dips  her  dappled  wing. 

Now  the  pine-tree's  waving  top. 

Gently  greets  the  morning  gale ; 
Kidlings  now  begin  to  crop 
'     Daisies  on  the  dewy  dale. 

From  the  balmy  sweets,  uncloy'd, 
(Restless  till  her  task  be  done,) 
Now  the  busy  bee's  employ'd. 

Sipping  dew  before  the  sun. 

«•. 

Trickling  through  the  erevic'd  rock, 
Where  the  limpid  stream  distils, 

Sweet  refreshment  waits  the  flock, 
When  'tis  sun-drove  from  the  hills. 


233 

Colin^s  for  the  promised  corn, 
(Ere  the  harvest-hopes  are  ripe) 

Anxious ; — while  the  huntsman's  horn, 
Boldly  sounding,  drowns  his  pipe. 

Sweet — O  sweet,  the  warbling  throng, 
On  the  white  emblossom'd  spray ! 

Nature's  universal  song 

Echoes  to  the  rising  day.  ^mK-'n-H 

NOON. 

Fervid  on  the  glittVing  flood. 

Now  the  noontide  radiance  glows  : 

Drooping  o'er  its  infant  bud, 
Not  a  dew-drop's  left  the  rose. 

By  the  brook  the  shepherd  dines,  -     -    , 
From  the  fierce  meridian  heat, 

Sheltered  by  the  branching  pines. 
Pendant  o'er  his  grassy  seat. 

Now  the  flocks  forsake  the  glade, 
Where  uncheck'd  the  sun-beams  fall 

Sure  to  find  a  pleasing  shade 
By  the  ivy'd  abbey  wall. 

Echo,  in  her  airy  round. 

O'er  the  river,  rock,  and  hill. 
Cannot  catch  a  single  sound,  -  .   .^^ 

Save  the  clack  of  yonder  mill. 

Cattle  court  the  zephyrs  bland. 

Where  the  streamlet  wanders  cool, 

Or  with  languid  silence  stand 
Midway  in  the  marshy  pool. 

But  from  mountain,  dell,  or  stream, 
Not  a  flutt'ring  zephyr  springs ; 

Fearful  lest  the  noontide  beain 
Scorch  its  soft,  its  silken  wings. 


234 

Not  a  leaf  has  leave  to  stir^. 

Nature's  lull'd — ^serene — and  still ; 
Quiet  e'en  the  shepherd's  cur, 

Sleeping  on  the  heath-clad  hill. 

Languid  is  the  landscape  round, 
Till  the  fresh  descending  show'r, 

Grateful  to  the  thirsty  ground. 
Raises  ev'ry  fainting  flow'r. 

Now  the  hill- — the  hedge — are  green, 
Now  the  warbler's  throat's  in  tune, 

Blithesome  is  the  verdant  scene, 
Brighten'd  by  the  beams  of  Noon. 

EVENING. 

O'er  the  heath  the  heifer  strays 
Free — (the  furrow'd  task  is  done  ;) 

Now  the  village  windows  blaze., 
Burnish 'd  by  the  setting  sun. 

Ifow  he  sets  behind  the  hill, 
'  Sinking  from  a  golden  sky  : 
Can  the  pencil's  mimic  skill 
Copy  the  refulgent  dye  ? 

Trudging  as  the  ploughmen  go, 
(To  the  smoking  hamlet  bound,) 

Giant-like  their  shadows  grow, 
Lengthen 'd  o'er  the  level  ground. 

Where  the  rising  forest  spreads 
Shelter  for  the  lordly  dome. 

To  their  high-built,  airy  beds, 
See  the  rooks  returning  home. 

As  the  lark,  with  vary'd  tune, 
Carols  to  the  ev'ning  loud  ;  ^ 


235 

Mark  the  mild  resplendent  moon, 
Breaking  through  a  parted  cloud. 

Now  tlie  hermit  owlet  peeps 

From  the  barn  or  twisted  brake ; 

And  the  blue  mist  slowly  creeps, 
Curling  on  the  silver  lake. 

As  the  trout  in  speckled  pride, 
Playful  from  its  bosom  springs ; 

To  the  banks  a  ruffled  tide 
Verges  in  successive  rings. 

Tripping  through  the  silken  grass 
O'er  the  path-divided  dale, 

Mark  the  rose-complexion 'd  lass 
With  her  well-pois'd  milking  pail  I 

Linnets  with  unnumber'd  notes, 
And  the  cuckoo  bird  with  two, 

Tuning  sweet  their  mellow  throats, 
Bid  the  setting  sun  adieu. 


The  Universal  Prayer, 

Father  of  all !  in  ev'ry  age. 

In  evVy  clime  ador'd, 
By  saint,  by  savage,  and  by  sage, 

Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord ! 

Thou  GREAT  FIRST  CAUSE,  Icast  undeFstood 

Who  all  my  sense  confin'd 
To  know  but  this,  that  thou  art  good, 

And  that  myself  am  blind  ; 

Yet  gave  me  in  this  dark  estate, 
To  see  the  good  from  ill : 


236 

And  binding  nature  fast  in  fate, 

Left  free  the  human  wil!.^ 
What  conscience  dictates  to  be  done, 

Or  warns  me  not  to  do, 
This,  teach  me  more  than  heii  to  shun, 

That,  more  than  heav'n  pursue. 

What  blessings  thy  free  bounty  gives. 

Let  me  not  cast  away  ; 
For  God  is  paid  when  man  receives ; 

T'  enjoy  is  to  obey. 
Yet  not  to  earth's  contracted  span 

Thy  goodness  let  me  bound. 
Or  think  thee  Lord  alone  of  man, 

When  thousand  worlds  are  round. 

Let  not  this  weak,  unknowing  hand 

Presume  thy  bolts  to  throw  ; 
And  deal  damnation  round  the  land, 

On  each  I  judge  thy  foe. 
If  I  am  right,  thy  grace  impart. 

Still  in  the  right  to  stay ; 
If  I  am  wrong,  oh  teach  my  heart 

To  find  that  better  way ! 

Save  me  alike  from  foolish  pride, 

Or  impious  discontent. 
At  aught  thy  wisdom  has  denied. 

Or  aught  thy  goodness  lent. 

Teach  me  to  feel  another's  wo. 

To  hide  the  fault  I  see ! 
That  mercy  I  to  others  show, 

That  mercy  show  to  me. 

Mean  though  I  am,  not  wholly  so. 
Since  quicken 'd  by  thy  breath: 

O  lead  me  wheresoe'er  I  go, 
J?hrough  this  day's  life  or  death! 


237 

This  day,  be  bread  arid  peace  my  lot: 

All  else  beneath  the  sun 
Thou  know'st  if  best  bestow'd  or  not, 

And  let  thy  will  be  done. 

To  thee,  whose  temple  is  all  space, 
Whose  altar,  earth,  sea,  skies! 

One  chorus  let  all  beings  raise  ! 
All  nature's  incense  rise. 


Address  of  a  Gentleman's  Skull. 

Why  start !  this  case  will  thine  be  very  soon, 
In  some  few  years,  perhaps  the  coming  moon. 
Life  at  its  utmost  length,  is  scarce  a  breath, 
And  those  who  longest  dream  must  wake  in  death. 
Like  thee,  I  once  thought  every  bliss  secure. 
And  gold  of  every  ill  the  certain  cure  : 
Till  plung'd  in  sorrow,  and  besieg'd  with  pain, 
Too  late  I  found  all  earthly  riches  vain. 
Disease  made  fruitless  every  sordid  fee. 
And  death  still  answer'd,  "  What  is  gold  to  me?" 
Fame,  Titles,  Honours,  next  1  vainly  sought. 
And  fools  obsequious,  nurs'd  each  childish  thought : 
Elate  with  brib'd  applause,  and  purchased  praise, 
I  built  on  endless  grandeur,  endless  days ; 
Till  death  awoke  me  from  the  dream  of  pride, 
And  laid  a  prouder  beggar  by  my  side. 
Pleasure  I  courted,  and  indulged  my  taste ; 
The  banquet  smiPd,  and  smiPd  the  gay  repast. 
A  loathsome  carcass  was  my  only  care. 
And  worlds  were  ransacked  but  for  me  to  share. 
Grs  A<,,  vain  man  !  to  luxury  be  firm  ; 
Yet  know  thou  feastest  but  to  feast  a  worm. 
Already,  sure,  less  terrible  I  seem  : 
Like  me,  thou  sure  wilt  own,  that  life's  a  dream  : 
Farewell !  remember,  nor  my  words  despise, 
The  only  happy  are  the  early  wise.' 


238 


Address  of  a  Lady^s  Skull, 

Blush  not,  ye  fair,  to  own  me,  but  be  wise  ; 

Nor  turn  from  sad  mortality  your  eyes. 

Fame  says,  and  fame  alone  can  tell  how  true, 

I  once  was  lovely,  and  belov'd  like  you. 

Where  are  my  vot'ries — where  my  flatt'rers  now  ? 

Gone  with  the  subject  of  each  lover's  vow. 

Adieu  the  rose's  red,  the  lily's  white. 

Adieu  those  eyes,  which  made  the  darkness  light  * 

No  more,  alas  !  that  coral  lip  is  seen, 

No  longer  breathes  the  fragrant  gale  between. 

Turn  from  your  mirror,  and  behold  in  me, 

At  once  what  thousands  can't,  or  dare  not  see. 

Unvarnish'd  I  the  real  truth  impart. 

Nor  here  am  plac'd  but  to  direct  the  heart : 

Survey  me  well,  ye  fair  ones,  and  believe, 

The  grave  may  terrify,  but  can't  deceive. 

On  beauty's  fragile  base  no  more  depend : 

Here  youth  and  pleasure,  age  and  sorrow  end  ; 

Here  drops  the  mask — here  shuts  the  final  scene. 

Nor  differs  grave  threescore  from  g^-y  fifteen. 

All  press  alike  to  that  same  goal,  the  tomb, 

Where  wrinkled  Laura  smiles  at  Chloe's  bloom. 

When  coxcombs  flatter,  and  when  fools  adore, 

Learn  here  the  lesson  to  be  vain  no  more. 

Yet  virtue  still  against  decay  can  arm, 

And  even  lend  mortality  a  charm. 


THE   END. 


i) 


rn". 


n 


r'l/' 


Qin 


'^K 


,^"'^' 


^ 


l^ 


% 


/  ^  ■ 


T:, 


<? 


PP 


/^ 


^ 


,^^ 


»&.:V 


,     «• 


V      ^ 


-  r. 


sr::^ 


